


No Mercy

by Gia279



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Derek, BAMF Erica Reyes, BAMF Stiles, Berserker!Stiles, Book Nerd Derek Hale, Derek's singing the denial song, Kidnapping, Linguist Derek, M/M, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prince Derek, Queen Talia, Royalty AU, Shy Derek, Stiles has a reputation, Torture, War, Warrior Stiles, king stiles, knight Boyd, not historical but somewhere to the left of reality if ya feel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-09-21 20:06:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 64,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17049731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279/pseuds/Gia279
Summary: The story of the Boy King was this: when he was sixteen, the Stilinski kingdom was at war with the Novak kingdom. King John was on the front lines with his soldiers when his teenage heir came to check in with him. The king was struck down in a nighttime attack, in front of the boy. The boy took up the king’s dropped sword, mounted his war steed, and slaughtered the enemy forces.When the remaining soldiers surrendered, he cut them down with his father’s sword and returned home a boy king with a bloodstained reputation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I know, I'm a glutton. I also never sleep, which is why I have so many fics on a waiting list to be written. I've been DYING to share this fic with everyone; I've reached chapter 15 in the pre-written version, which is around when I start posting! Because I'm not finished writing this yet, I will only be posting **once every other Tuesday**. I hope you like it!! 
> 
> And, of course, thank you [rebekahdarian](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rebekahdarian/) for the beta read. You're a lifesaver!

The story of the Boy King was this: when he was sixteen, the Stilinski kingdom was at war with the Novak kingdom. King John was on the front lines with his soldiers when his teenage heir came to check in with him. The king was struck down in a nighttime attack, in front of the boy. The boy took up the king’s dropped sword, mounted his war steed, and slaughtered the enemy forces.

When the remaining soldiers surrendered, he cut them down with his father’s sword and returned home a boy king with a bloodstained reputation.

He never sought war, but when inflicted upon him and his kingdom, he fought alongside his soldiers and won. 

He’d fought and won two other wars after his first in the seven years since. He’d changed the Stilinski kingdom motto from “ _En la muerte, somos hermanos._ ” to “ _Sin rendición, sin piedad._ ” 

Derek found that the motto fit the king’s reputation. 

The knight who’d escorted Derek from the foyer practically threw him into the throne room, at the Boy King’s feet. 

Derek carefully lifted his head. 

King Mieczysław Stilinski was young, as young as his reputation claimed. He sat relaxed upon his throne like a petulant teenager, although he was twenty-three. He had a hard, assessing look on his face, he was dressed in unrelieved black, down to his boots, and he was sizing Derek up.

Derek straightened his shoulders. This was a terrible idea. He met the king’s eye and swallowed. He was probably going to get thrown out on his ass.

“To the ring!” King Stilinski boomed. 

“The ring?” Derek repeated in a hoarse whisper. 

The royal knight hauled him to his feet unceremoniously; he shoved him between the shoulders. “Move.”

Derek stumbled along nervously; the king and his general walked side-by-side ahead of him. The royal knight who’d escorted Derek in walked between them and Derek, like he was protecting them from _him._

They passed between stables and a field where soldiers were training with swords. The sun was creeping down, but they showed no signs of slowing, merely switching to less lethal weapons. There were horses being trained in the field on the left. 

The group reached a raised platform, roped off and circled by open metal fencing. Derek understood. It was a fighting ring.

King Stilinski swung himself onto it with practiced, graceful ease. 

Derek looked up. He was going to die. Forget being thrown out, King Stilinski was going to kill him barehanded. He was really thinking he should’ve told his family he loved them one more time before coming here. 

The king held a hand out.

Derek gulped and took it.

He hauled him up, then backed toward his own corner. 

Derek assessed him again; he had broad shoulders and lean, muscular arms, but he was still human. Derek was a werewolf. Surely he could hold his own against a human, no matter his reputation.

Then again, he’d killed the Novak army when he was sixteen, and as far as Derek had heard, they were wolves, too.

King Stilinski’s knight and general walked the outside of the ring, closing the fencing and locking them in.

The general smirked at him as she locked the last one. 

Derek looked back at the king.

He’d kicked his boots off, but he didn’t seem to expect the same of Derek. He began walking along the edge of the ring, clockwise toward Derek. 

Derek wasn’t sure what was going on; Laura had taught him basic hand-to-hand, but not nearly enough to hold his own for long.

King Stilinski gestured at him to approach. 

Derek gulped in air and ran, hoping to catch him off guard.

He ducked down and swept his legs out from under him, catching him right behind the ankles and toppling him straight to the mat.

Derek sprang to his feet and ducked; he bolted out of reach. He had retained that part of Laura’s training: don’t let them pin you, no matter what. That was the quickest way to lose. 

The king smirked. 

Derek blocked his right fist, only to catch the left in the ribs. He got a knee to the jaw when he doubled over, then another fist to the face. He felt the mats against his back. When had he fallen? He saw a foot coming and rolled, then jumped to his feet. He wiped blood from his mouth and backed away. 

King Stilinski followed, moving with a speed Derek didn’t know humans were capable of. He’d broken Derek’s nose before he saw him get that close. 

He sputtered, backing away as fast as he could. The bone snapped back into place. He watched King Stilinski with watering eyes. He took a deep breath. Thought about the two armies closing in on his home. He sized up the distance between himself and King Stilinski and charged. He had no chance—not nearly the level of skill needed to even put up a good fight—but if this was a test, he had to try. 

King Stilinski stepped aside at the last second and thrust his arm out. It caught Derek across the chest, slamming him back.

He stared up at the darkening sky, winded. 

_Get up._ Laura would be mortified. 

He got up. Breathing hard, he braced his legs. Licked blood off his lip. Ran forward.

King Stilinski dodged again, though this time he let Derek slam into the ropes. “Alright,” he said. He wasn’t even winded.

Derek looked at him. “Alright?” he repeated dumbly.

“We’ll go back in the throne room and discuss whatever you’ve come to ask for.”

Derek blinked. “How’d you know I-”

“People only come to ask for or take things.” Stilinski vaulted out of the ring. He held a hand up while his general dismantled the fence.

He hesitated before taking it. His bruises and cuts had healed, but he still had blood on his face. 

The castle felt ice cold after even the dying sunlight outside; Stilinski went directly to his throne, all but throwing a leg over the arm. “What is it you’ve come for?” 

The royal knight prodded his shoulder. 

He glowered back at him for a half second. “I’m Prince Derek Hale, Your Majesty. I’ve come to request your assistance in the war being waged against my family’s kingdom.”

Stilinski nodded. “Hale. Your queen was friendly with my father.” He tilted his head toward the left. “General Reyes, send a unit to the Hale border.” His gaze went back to Derek. “We’ll assess the situation. If it’s dire enough, the rest of us will go.”

Derek took a breath. “It’s the Argents,” he told him.

Stilinski nodded. “My perimeter saw them skirting our northern border weeks ago.” 

He swallowed with a click. “And the Calaveras.”

He bared his teeth in a vicious grin. “Lady Martin,” he called, “send word to the Hale kingdom. We’re helping.” 

A woman in a pale purple dress to Stilinski’s right nodded and stood, gracefully leaving the room.

The royal knight behind Derek shifted his feet. “You’ve another visitor, Your Majesty.”

Derek stiffened. 

“General,” King Stilinski said casually. “Our guest.”

General Reyes marched down and took Derek’s arm. She didn’t escort him so much as frog march him past the throne, to a small, hidden door. “So sorry, Your Highness, we’ll get you to your quarters momentarily.” She closed the door in his face. 

He stood there for a moment, baffled. He was in a small, dark hallway, most likely a hidden escape route. He could hear movement, boots striking marble.

“Your Majesty,” a horrifically familiar voice greeted. “Thank you so much for agreeing to see m-”

“To the ring!” King Stilinski announced.

Derek caught his breath. Apparently, the fight was routine for this place. He wondered what Kate Argent needed from King Stilinski. He wondered if Stilinski would decide to help her instead. He swallowed and forced himself to breathe again. They would be crushed instantly, even with the Ito kingdom’s help.

He wanted to push the door open, peer out, but he made himself wait. Oddly enough, he was reminded of when he was young, playing hide and seek with Cora in the house, waiting to be found. He suddenly missed his family horribly.

The Stilinski kingdom bordered the Hale kingdom to the north, but it was a large territory, made up from the Novak, Lawson, and Raken kingdoms, all combined with the original Stilinski kingdom when King Mieczysław had taken over. The castle was well protected, and it was a long trip.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he heard footsteps re-entering the throne room. He wondered why one of Stilinski’s staff hadn’t come to escort him somewhere else in that time, rather than having him eavesdrop, but he couldn’t question it.

“So, Your Majesty,” Argent simpered. “That was fun.” She sounded congested. 

Derek grinned at the idea that he’d broken her nose just like his. She wouldn’t heal like Derek did.

Stilinski was silent.

Argent cleared her throat. “I’ve come to request your help. My kingdom—well, we had an agreement with the Hales-” lie- “and they refuse to honor it. My father, who ruled before me, would never tolerate such blatant disrespect, but I expected such a thing from them. You see, the Hales are animals, inhuman. Were-”

“-wolves,” Stilinski finished in a voice that revealed nothing. “I know.”

“Then you understand my plight. The Novaks were werewolves, too. They killed your father. I’m sure you can see why-”

“No. A sneaking coward killed my father, werewolf or not.”

There was a pause as Argent most likely reevaluated her pitch. “Of course, Your Majesty. But consider the fact that most of the werewolf kingdoms are friendly, so the Hales-”

“I won’t help you, Queen Argent.”

Another pause. “I see. So you’ll side with the animals.”

“Looks like it.” Something creaked. “You’d do better to hold your temper until you’re off of my land.” 

“Of course… _Majesty,_ ” Argent simpered. 

The door opened a few moments later. General Reyes stepped back, gesturing at him to come out.

He swallowed and shuffled back in front of the throne. “Your Majesty, Argent-”

King Stilinski straightened up in his throne. “My soldiers are being sent to aid your kingdom, as well as word to let Queen Hale know we will help and let her know you’ve arrived alive.” 

“Then I-”

“Should stay.” Stilinski assessed him. “You’ll be my guest until I join my soldiers.”

Derek was afraid of the Boy King and his violent reputation, but he’d also been raised a royal, a prince himself. “Will I?” he asked stiffly. 

“Unless you’d rather head back tomorrow.” Stilinski smirked. “I’m not sure your horses or your knight would appreciate that.”

It almost bothered Derek that he hadn’t suggested that it would be rude to refuse, or that he would be insulted if he did. As if he were putting it on Derek to make the decision that wasn’t a decision at all. “Then I suppose I’m staying.” 

Stilinski nodded. “Mason will show you to your quarters. Your horses will be taken care of by my top handler.” He nodded toward the foyer. “Sir Parrish.”

Derek turned. 

The knight who’d showed him in was escorting Derek’s own royal knight into the throne room.

Boyd still looked faintly pissed that he’d been left by the carriage, but Derek had insisted on coming inside alone.

A teenager approached Derek. “This way, Prince Hale,” he said cheerfully. He led Derek and Boyd out of the throne room to the left, while Stilinski watched. 

Derek looked around as they went. The walls were empty save for the oil lamps lighting the way. He wondered if there were ever any pictures, if Stilinski had taken them down when he’d taken the throne, or if it’d always been this empty. 

“It’s just up these stairs,” Mason said. “Your things will be brought up soon. Dinner will be in two hours. The king would like for you to join him.”

Derek frowned at him. He hadn’t seen Stilinski speak to him in the short time they’d been in the throne room together. 

“But if you’d rather not, I can always have your meal sent to your quarters, Your Highness.” Mason led the way up the marbled stairs.

Sure, he’d tell Stilinski, but who knew how much trouble he’d get into for Derek refusing to join him. Derek knew very well how petty royals could be. “I’ll join him.” 

Mason beamed back at him. “Terrific. Tonight dinner will be slightly later than normal. Here’s your room,” he added, taking a left at the top of the stairs. He opened the door. “There’s an adjoining room for your guard just down the hall.” He looked at Boyd. “Would you like me to show you?”

“I can find it, thanks,” he replied stiffly. 

He nodded. “Yes, sir. Someone will be around to show you to the dining room at dinner time.” He bowed quickly and left. 

Derek stepped into the room. 

The lamps were lit already, though there was a window that would provide ample light in the day, just beside the bed. There was a stand to the right of the bed, an armoire to the left of the door, and another door across the room.

Boyd went to it, inspecting the inside. “Just the bathroom and the door to mine.” 

“Good.” Derek shut the door behind him and surveyed the room some more.

There was a rug beside the bed, thick and soft, to protect feet from the cold stone floors. The bed itself was made up with deep green blankets and pillows, like they’d been made directly from the forests surrounding Derek’s home. 

“What happened, Derek?” Boyd asked. “You’ve blood on your clothes.” 

Derek faced him. After spending even a little time in the Stilinski palace, he’d realized just how casual his family and their staff was. He considered Boyd his closest friend, outside of his family. He didn’t even think twice that Boyd never used titles before today. “King Stilinski has an odd way of judging character,” he replied slowly. “But he was fair. And he rejected Kate Argent’s request for help.”

“She was _here_?” Boyd demanded, paling. “Are you _sure_ he rejected her?”

“I heard it myself. I don’t know his system or why he chose to believe me over her, but I heard how furious Argent got.”

Boyd nodded slowly. “What does she need Stilinski’s help for? She and the Calaveras are more than powerful enough together.”

“Most likely to be sure he didn’t choose to help us.”

“Lucky we got here first,” Boyd muttered.

Derek nodded, though he didn’t agree completely. Stilinski had chosen to fight both him and Argent before hearing what they wanted. He must’ve been judging them based on something he saw during the fight. If that was the case, he probably wouldn’t have helped Argent whether she’d arrived first or not.

Derek didn’t know what his pathetic fight could have shown him, but it must’ve been agreeable. That or it inspired tremendous pity. 

The thought rankled.

“Come on. You should wash up before dinner,” Boyd said, drawing him out of his thoughts. 

“Alright,” he murmured. He wondered if Stilinski thought their kingdom as pathetic as Derek’s lack of combative prowess, and that’s why he offered to help.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I'm so glad that I get to post this. I hope you all enjoy chapter 2!!! I'm flying through this fic, so hopefully I'll be up to posting once a week instead of every other week soon! <3 Let me know what you think!

The dining room was set up more like a military mess than a banquet hall. Five long tables were arranged throughout the room, filled with soldiers and staff. 

King Stilinski was by himself at one table at the head of the room. The way the other tables kept glancing over, puzzled, told Derek that this was unusual. He stood when Derek and Boyd approached. “Your knight will eat with my general,” he said.

General Reyes stood. She was at a table to the immediate left, with a dark haired man, Lady Martin, and Sir Parrish. She lifted a brow at Boyd and gestured at the open seat across from her. 

“Go ahead,” Derek murmured.

Boyd stepped away stiffly, as if he didn’t want to go.

Talia had told him to stay close; disobeying her twice in one day went against every instinct in him.

Derek looked at Stilinski. 

“Have a seat, Prince Hale.”

He sat. “You can call me Derek,” he said. “If we’re to be allies, I suppose dropping the titles can’t hurt.”

Stilinski tipped his head. “Do lack of formalities bother you?”

Derek didn’t know how to tell him that he was used to it, that despite his uncle’s training and his mother’s lessons, he’d grown up in a small kingdom filled with werewolves, who regarded their neighbors as family and their rulers as protectors. “No,” he said instead. 

“Alright. Then you can call me Stiles, Derek.” His lips quirked. He had a wide, soft-looking mouth, at odds with the rest of him somehow; it looked used to smiling, offsetting the harshness of the scar along the left side of his jaw. “Meals are served here—breakfast at seven, lunch at noon, dinner at six. The kitchen is open, and the small kitchen on the second floor is always stocked in case you get hungry between meals.” He made an expansive gesture. “I eat with my staff and soldiers, the ones that wish to join us, at least. The rest have their own mess hall in the training and bunking areas.” 

Derek nodded, because he didn’t know how to respond.

“After dinner, someone will show you around. How’s your nose?”

“Completely healed, Your M-” He hesitated when Stilinski raised a brow. “-Stiles?”

He nodded. “Good. I’ve no doubt you heard Queen Argent’s proposal.”

Derek stiffened. “I heard.”

Stilinski’s gaze was intense. “What agreement did she speak of?”

He bristled. “There was never an agreement,” he said as evenly as he could. “Queen Argent decided she wanted our land, proposed a marriage to combine our kingdoms and became—hostile when my mother politely but firmly rejected it.” He swallowed. “My queen, I meant.” 

“I know what you meant.” His gaze flicked over Derek’s face, no doubt flushed with temper. “Why did Queen Hale send you?”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked in a cold tone that sounded more like his uncle than he cared to admit.

Stilinski’s face revealed nothing. “Why you, when the Princesses Hale are both renowned warriors?”

“A show of good faith,” he replied instantly. “Queen Hale sent her least combative child and only son to prove that we trusted you not to kill me, and so you would know we also meant you no harm.”

He nodded. “Are you the heir?”

“Laura is,” Derek said sharply. “You know that. Why are you asking?” He didn’t like games like this. If Stilinski knew Laura and Cora were warriors, he knew Laura was heir to the throne and that Cora was in line to be her general. Their army wasn’t as impressive as Stilinski’s, but they were well trained. 

Stilinski smiled but didn’t answer. 

Derek was surprised enough by the sight of it that he didn’t press.

Staff brought out dinner a minute later, serving them individually, but the rest buffet style. 

“A precaution General Reyes insists upon,” he explained. He noticed Derek waiting and took a bite of his own meal first. “Should I test yours for poison?” His eyes gleamed. 

“In—at home, it’s customary to wait for the queen to begin to eat first,” Derek murmured. 

“Because she’s the alpha as well, correct? Children, the elderly, the sick, then the alpha, then the rest?”

He nodded warily. 

Stilinski nodded, too, and kept eating. “Sounds like a working system.” He didn’t say it tauntingly. “The armory is at the end of the hall, to the right of the stairs, if you’re interested. The stables are to the left of the training field,” he continued. 

Derek wasn’t weapons adverse, per se. He just didn’t know what to do with most of them. 

Stilinski motioned with his fork. “The library is right down the hall from your room.” He grinned suddenly, dazzlingly bright. “I thought it’d either be animals or books.”

“I see.” Derek didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know Stilinski, and Stilinski didn’t know him. He didn’t know why Stilinski wanted him to stick around, but he thought maybe he should figure that out before he left. 

 

After dinner, Derek expected to be shuffled off at a member of staff to be given a tour or something. What actually happened was Stilinski thanked the person who cleared their table, then looked at him. 

“Yes?”

“Your knight can join us on the way to the library.”

“Can he,” Derek replied flatly. He glanced over.

Boyd was already on his feet, and moved to Derek’s side as soon as they made eye contact. He stood as stiff and professional as Derek had ever seen him.

“Perfect. This way. _Later_ , Erica,” he added sharply when General Reyes tried to say something.

She shut her mouth, looking infuriated. 

Derek watched Stilinski while they walked. Side-by-side like this, he realized they were the same height, that Stilinski wasn’t towering over him like he’d expected. 

He moved with a specific sort of grace that Derek associated with warriors: they knew exactly where their boots were landing and where they would land, and where the people next to them were, too. He had a sword at his hip and several knives on his person, if Derek was reading his body language right. 

Derek stared at the sword hilt. It had the Stilinski crest on the hilt, the grip worn smooth and kept clean. He wondered if it was King John’s sword, the one Stilinski had picked up at sixteen.

“Here. I don’t know how long it’s been since it was dusted.” Stilinski opened the heavy door and strode in. 

Derek stepped in behind him, looking around, and felt a flutter of excitement. 

The shelves went nearly to the ceiling and they were all full. There was only one wall that wasn’t completely covered with books, and that was only enough clear space for a window and window seat. 

There were armchairs and large, heavy desks throughout the room. The one nearest Derek had miniscule scuffs and scratches along the surface. 

Stilinski leaned against one of the other desks, facing him. “Shut the door,” he ordered. 

Boyd stiffened, but he did as told when Derek nodded. 

“I remember your mother,” Stilinski said once the door was firmly closed.

“I didn’t know you’d met.”

He nodded. “Queen Talia came personally to attend my father’s funeral. She was kind to me.”

Derek hadn’t known that. He was nineteen at the time, and remembered Laura talking about Ennis Novak with rage and disgust, and his father in charge for a few days, which obviously meant Talia had gone. He felt guilty for not remembering. 

“You should stay until I’m ready to go join the fight,” Stilinski said. “Argent won’t take my refusal to help lightly, and I wouldn’t put it past her to ambush a lone Hale carriage on its way home.”

“It’s unmarked,” he said. He cleared his throat and met his gaze. “Is that a term for your help? My staying here?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “My only terms are that the Hales, you, remain my allies. That if I’m ever in need, your kingdom will help me.”

That seemed astoundingly little to ask for what they were receiving. “Agreed,” he blurted without thinking.

“You should perhaps consult your queen first, Prince Derek,” he said with a little smile. His eyes were like gems suddenly, gleaming with amusement.

He swallowed and dropped his gaze. “Right.”

“We’ll handle the official treaties and formalities tomorrow. Make yourself at home.” He stepped toward the door, but paused beside Derek. “Have a good night, Derek,” he said, and kept going.

Derek turned involuntarily to watch him go and found Boyd watching him. “What?” he mumbled. He’d all but forgotten he was there. 

Boyd shook his head. “Nothing, I suppose.” He looked over his shoulder, but Stilinski had already left. “Big library. Yours is bigger.”

“Yes, but this one is free of both Peter _and_ Cora,” he said with a grin. “Plus, I’m sure there are books here I’ve yet to read.”

Boyd hummed. “I wouldn’t count on it.” He laughed.

Later that night, Derek fell asleep curled in one of the armchairs, and dreamed that he was home, running through the trees with Laura at his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: "least combative child"= "least likely to have been sent to assassinate Stiles who has had many attempts on his life since he was a teenager" in case that wasn't clear.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope you like chapter 3!! I've been so excited to share. I'm nearly done writing this, and then I'll move on to my next project...which I wanted to ask everyone a question about
> 
> I'm planning on writing a few fics in the style of romantic novels? Like those harlequin paperbacks everyone's mom or grandmother read when they were kids, but for Sterek. The writing style would be very different from my normal style, so I'm like nervous about posting them lol. D: Would anyone be interested in something like that, just to give me an idea of potential audiences?

Lady Martin took her job very seriously. She went over every part of the treaty with both Derek and Stilinski, had it copied in triplicate, and checked to be sure they were _completely_ understanding of the terms, whether she had to reread it or not.

“King Mieczysław Stilinski will provide soldiers, medical and various supply aid throughout the duration and until victory to Queen Talia Hale. In return, Queen Talia Hale will provide aid and shelter and remain an ally with King Mieczysław Stilinski should he require it in the future.” Lady Martin checked with both of them, then went on.

They’d been at it since dawn. Derek knew it was important. He just wished he’d gotten more sleep before. 

“Does that sound agreeable to you, Prince Derek?” Lady Martin prompted. 

“It does, Lady Martin.”

“Then you will sign here as a witness once His Majesty has signed.”

Stilinski took the pen and glanced over the document before nodding and signing all three copies. He passed the stack over to Derek.

He looked it over, too; he had no reason not to trust Lady Martin’s word as to what it said, but Peter had taught him to be _sure_ before he put his name on anything. He signed as witness.

Lady Martin signed as a second witness over all three documents. “Good. These will be sent to Queen Hale immediately for her signature and notarization.” Her lips quirked. “You’re free to go, Your Majesty.” 

Stilinski stood. “As ever, your help is appreciated and irreplaceably valuable, Lady Martin.” He grinned at her and tossed a polite nod Derek’s way before he left the office.

She waited a moment, then said, “Since formal introductions were skipped this morning, my name is Lady Lydia Martin, Your Highness. If there’s anything you need, come to me first. His Majesty has training and meetings until dinner, so I’m afraid he won’t have time to be a good host. If you’d like a tour of the palace, Mason would be more than happy to help. However, you are also welcome to explore on your own if you’d prefer.”

“Thank you.” He straightened in his seat. “I think I’d rather explore on my own.” He felt like he was in school.

“The only room off-limits is the king’s quarters, but you’d be stopped and redirected long before you reached it. Thank you for your time, Your Highness.”

“And yours, Lady.”

She smiled briefly before her gaze flicked down to her work, a subtle but clear dismissal.

Derek met Boyd in the hallway. 

“Library?” he asked, and Derek couldn’t help grinning. 

“Yes.” He wasn’t surprised that he liked the library so much. Even with Peter trying to cram etiquette and lore lessons into his head and Cora trying to entice him to train with them, he loved the library at home, too. He just felt most comfortable surrounded by stories. He wondered if he could get away with spending his entire stay in this room. He smirked, imagining Peter’s face if he ever found out. 

He wandered when they got there, gaze skimming along the shelves. 

“Are you going to read?” Boyd sounded amused. 

Derek hummed. “Maybe. I’m looking for something.”

“What is it?”

“The most worn book.” He shrugged and glanced back. “I thought the one that looked the most used has probably been read the most.” He went back to scouring the shelves. “Says a lot about the person reading it, I think.”

“Probably.” Boyd started looking around, too. “Do you want to get to know him? I thought you…” He considered his words. “I thought that you were _wary_ of the Boy King.” He lifted his brows. 

“I am. But he’s our ally now, and I’d like to know more about him. Besides…” He made himself busy skimming the spines on the shelf in front of him. “His reputation is brutal. He could’ve done far more damage in that ring than he did.”

“So could you!” Boyd snapped.

Derek snorted. “You didn’t see him. He’s fast for a human.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “And pretty strong.”

“You just don’t like hurting people,” he sighed. “Even in sparring you pulled your punches.” He grinned. “Too bad Laura didn’t do the same.”

Derek pressed his palm to his ribs automatically, wincing at the memory of Laura breaking three of his ribs at once the previous summer. Laura didn’t know the meaning of “take it easy”. Thankfully, they’d healed completely within a few hours.

Boyd snickered.

He rolled his eyes and kept searching. He found a book entitled _Child of the Chasm_ by Oana Le Saux that looked well-worn, the edges soft, the spine broken. He pulled it off the shelf. “Are you going to join me?”

Boyd scoffed. “In this place? No. Sir Stick-Up-His-Ass will show up just to be smug and superior while standing watch.” He sighed and rolled his shoulders. “I know it’s my job, too. I’m sorry.” 

“And you’re good at your job,” Derek said, because it was true. “Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean you’re not good at your job.”

Boyd nodded, but he still didn’t join Derek to read. 

The book was a mystery, and fairly enthralling. Derek found himself captivated all the way up until Boyd prodded him for lunch.

“King Stilinski is meeting with some nobles,” General Reyes said as soon as they entered the dining room. “You can eat with me.” She turned and marched that way, leaving them to decide whether they would follow or not.

Boyd rolled his eyes.

They followed. “Does the king’s highest ranking officer always eat with his animal handlers?” Derek asked when they approached the table, nose twitching.

“Yes,” Lady Martin said simply. She was seated across from the man that smelled of clean hay, sweat, and horses. “Join us.”

Derek sat beside Boyd and Lady Martin. 

“I’m Scott McCall,” the animal handler said. “I’m Stiles’s head animal trainer and handler. All of his war horses have been trained by me.” 

Derek nodded. “You must be good.”

“He’s the best,” General Reyes said.

Scott looked humbled. “Maybe not _the_ best, but I’m pretty good.”

“So tell us about your morning, Prince Derek. Find anything interesting?” Lady Martin inquired.

“Plenty of books. I enjoy the library,” he admitted. “I’ve been reading all morning, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?”

“What book?” Scott asked, looking genuinely interested.

“‘ _Child of the Chasm_ ’. It’s a mystery…and you all know the book, I take it?”

Their faces had all frozen and paled almost in unison.

General Reyes shook it off first. “Yes, we know it. That was King John’s favorite book when His Majesty was a child.”

Well, at least he was right about it being _someone’s_ favorite book. “Should I have left it alone?” Derek asked, baffled. 

“Of course not,” Lady Martin said briskly. “It’s just a book. His Majesty rereads it himself on occasion.” 

“Later I can give you a tour of the stables, if you’d like,” Scott offered with a crooked smile. “I can show you where your horses are being cared for.” 

“I would appreciate that, thank you.” Derek wasn’t sure he would be going to the stables—some horses didn’t react well to the smell of werewolves—but it was a nice offer. 

He observed through most of lunch, fascinated. They spoke of Stilinski with respect, and though there was a possibility that was for Derek’s benefit, it seemed true enough. They were less afraid of Stilinski than he’d been expecting. Though, to be fair, Derek had expected a tyrannical barbarian in the throne, from the stories he’d heard. 

Few had battled the Boy King and lived to tell of it; those who did were seen as cowards, deserters who’d fled from battle. They had to be, to live long enough to escape. Stilinski took no prisoners. 

_Sin rendición, sin piedad._

Boyd got along particularly well with General Reyes, who found his dry sense of humor entertaining enough that she didn’t cut him into a thousand bloodless pieces, though Derek sensed her wit was as sharp as the sword on her hip. 

Lady Martin spoke of the Steele kingdom while they ate, angrily spearing her salad with her fork. “It’s almost worse than when that Raken _ingrate_ was traipsing about like he owned the place.”

“We remember, Lydia,” Scott soothed.

She shot him a venomous look. “You weren’t the one trying to negotiate with him when-” She cut herself off. “Anyhow, Steele has been letting—no, _encouraging_ his people to cross into our borders and-”

“How?” Derek blurted. 

She repeated, “How?”

He felt awkward for interrupting, but now that they were staring at him… “How can they be crossing your borders? The Steele kingdom is bordered by Harel and Calavera. They’d have to go through one of them, then Ito, Argent, or Hale land to get here.” He had a sinking feeling about that. “I’ve not heard of the Steeles being friendly with Ito.”

“Yes, but even if they aren’t _friendly_ , they could grant passage to merchants or travelers. It’d be openly hostile for such a central kingdom like the Itos to deny safe passage.” Lady Martin shrugged delicately. “And if they’d sent word or requested permission, His Majesty would’ve allowed it.”

Boyd lifted his brows but didn’t comment.

“Really?” Derek asked carefully. 

Her gaze narrowed on him. “You were allowed through, weren’t you?”

“Lydia,” General Reyes warned. 

“I suppose,” he said, ignoring her. “But I thought His Majesty was wary of the Steele kingdom.”

“He is.”

“Then why allow any of them to pass through?”

“To see whether they’ll ask for permission or not, and to discover what they do once granted that permission.” 

“I see,” Derek murmured.

“Do you?” Lady Martin smirked, and Derek wasn’t sure if he did.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your feedback about my question! I'm so excited to share the new ideas I have when this is done! <3 Enjoy this chapter!! I've finished writing this, so from now on, I'll be posting every Tuesday until it's all posted! Final chapter count will be up when I figure out whether or not to split one into two.

Derek found himself wandering after lunch; Lady Martin had rushed off to deal with some “diplomatic temper tantrums”, General Reyes went to find Sir Parrish, who was absent from lunch, and Scott had something he referred to as a “sniff and wag party” to deal with.

“They’re very relaxed,” Boyd commented.

Derek whipped around to face him. “Really?”

“Well, considering who they work for. I expected fearful reverence, bowing and scraping.” 

“Maybe he’s not a tyrant.”

“I never said he was.” He shrugged. “But you have to admit, with a reputation like his, you’d expect more uptight staff.”

“They _are_ uptight.”

Boyd threw his hands up. “You’re being difficult on purpose.”

“Yes.”

He glowered at him.

They kept down the hall toward the stairs, but instead of going up, Derek turned right. 

There was a heavy door a few feet into the hall on the left, unmarked and unlocked. It smelled like metal, sweat, polished old leather, and very faint blood. He opened the door, unsurprised when he found himself in the armory. He glanced back at Boyd, who smirked. 

Before Cora had gone to join Laura at the border, she’d heard that he was going to request help from the Boy King; she’d made Derek promise to get a look at his armory. “I bet it’s _amazing_ ,” she’d said, her eyes gleaming with either bloodlust or envy, he hadn’t been sure.

It was a large room; he had to assume all spare weapons were kept here just from the size. Swords, knives, spears, bows, whips, axes, cudgels, all manner of weapons and armor lined the walls. Cora would be impressed, but Derek was just wondering what the possible use of a whip could be, in a war. It didn’t look used.

There were counters set up, too, displaying bejeweled daggers and dented helmets with names under them. He tried to commit everything to memory so he could describe it to Cora later. It’d be like a birthday present to her.

“Jeeze,” Boyd breathed. “Like a shrine to weaponry.”

Derek stopped at a bloodied breastplate, old and rather small. It was marked _Mieczysław, Lawson-Stilinski War_. He stared at the dented armor, one hand lifted to his own shoulder in sympathetic pain. How old had Stilinski been during the Lawson siege? Seventeen, eighteen at the oldest? A second war before he’d turned twenty-one.

He’d been smaller then, narrower in the shoulders. A child, really.

“I wonder how he did it.” Boyd stepped around the side of the table. “He was only a kid.”

Derek nodded, never taking his eyes off the armor. “Everyone wonders that.” There was no one left outside of the Stilinski kingdom from that first war, the devastating one that killed King John, the one that Mieczysław won on his own at sixteen, that was still alive and able to tell what had really happened. “I think I’d like to go back to the library now,” he said.

Once in the library, though, he found himself too restless and cooped up to sit inside. He gathered a couple novels and began wandering the second floor.

“Look at this,” Boyd said as they passed a large space. “Just nothing here. An apartment area that way, another kitchen.”

“I assume this palace was built with big royal families in mind.”

“No, the Hale place was built with big families in mind,” he corrected. “This place was built for…entertaining groups? The superiority?”

Derek shrugged. “Humans are different. We don’t mind being crammed together. Maybe they do.”

“Maybe.”

They kept going, observing the unadorned walls grimly. Derek’s home was filled with pictures, landscapes and family portraits and embarrassing framed drawings Derek and his sisters did as children. This place seemed so…empty of personal touches. Of course, Stilinski had no family, so maybe that was why. Maybe there was no one to display pictures of.

Why not his late parents, though? Wouldn’t there be something of them, somewhere?

“Infirmary,” Boyd murmured as they passed a set of double doors.

Derek could smell the antiseptic, the sharp scent of medicine creeping under the doors. He heard some people moving around, likely the doctors and nurses who were tending to illnesses and injuries among staff. “What’s down that hall?” He nodded to the left. 

“Some bedrooms and…” Boyd stepped away, leaning into the hall. “A balcony. Want to read out there? The sun is out.”

“Yes.” Desperately. Fresh air was exactly what he needed. 

The balcony was enormous, like everything else; there were wrought-iron chairs and tables spread throughout, indicating that it had perhaps once been used for entertaining.

Derek set his borrowed books on a table and looked out at the field. 

The balcony overlooked the training areas, which were astoundingly vast at this height. A woman was teaching a group with wooden swords, her bright hair tied back severely. Just beyond that was the ring Stilinski had taken Derek to. He was in it, training or sparring or just plain fighting with Sir Parrish, who had stripped off his official garb and down to soft pants and a shirt. 

Parrish landed a punch to his ribs and skipped back, looking smug. 

Derek could see why; landing a hit on Stilinski without suffering a blow yourself must’ve been difficult.

It was fascinating to watch Stilinski fight someone nearly his equal in skill. He fought ferociously, but he knew when to back off or dodge. Apparently his fight with Derek barely qualified as such, judging by the way he fought Parrish. Halfway through, he stripped his shirt off, using it to wipe his face. 

Derek’s mouth felt a little dry. “Ah…maybe I’ll take Scott up on his offer. To…tour the stables.”

Boyd snorted. “Okay, Your Highness,” he said, or something close to that.

 

By the time they got to the training fields—damn huge castle—Stilinski was sword sparring with General Reyes, separate from the crowd of soldiers in the other field.

Derek stopped to observe, mostly behind one of the posts of the fence separating the soldier training area from the path and the horse training field. 

Boyd stopped at his shoulder, making a low, amused sound.

Stilinski and Reyes trained like equals, like if she got the chance, Reyes would win and she had no fear of consequences to that.

Derek had read of plenty of so-called warrior kings who would have the head of any who bested him in public sparring. He was fascinated, because in groups, even semi-public, Stilinski was stern, commanding, no matter who he was speaking to, the Boy King, but he could hear his low voice from here, and it was…different. He was teasing General Reyes like an old friend, quiet enough that human ears wouldn’t hear it outside of the ring, trash talking cheerfully. 

He thought about Stilinski in the library the previous evening, ordering Boyd to close the door before revealing that he remembered Talia attending his father’s funeral. He wondered what to make of that. All he could think was that perhaps Stilinski’s reputation wasn’t every part of him.

“Your Highness!” a voice called out. Scott vaulted the horse training fence like it was nothing. “Did you want that tour now? I promise, our horses won’t freak out.” He grinned. 

“Yeah, I’d like that, if you aren’t too busy.”

Scott shook his head. “I’m good, my assistant has it handled.” He waved at the younger man in the field, who was talking to a horse like it could understand what he was saying. “Come on. I’ll take you to your horses first. They seem to like it here, we have a lot of space and our off-duty horses are social enough.” He led the way with a loose, easy stride, his breath thin white puffs in the air. 

The stables were huge, but it would have to be, Derek guessed, for an army the size of Stilinski’s. The stalls were clean and large, with a name carved into each door. To his dismay, he saw several with a second name beneath the first. 

“Some were from old age,” Scott assured him. He stepped deftly out of the way as someone hustled around making sure everything was clean and where it was supposed to be. “Here are your girls,” he said cheerfully, finding the mares that’d brought Derek and Boyd all the way from home.

Boyd went to them immediately.

Derek had only taken half a step forward when a scent caught his attention. He rocked back on his heels, brows furrowing as he tried to place the scent. He huffed and scented the air again, nose twitching. He listened hard, swiveling his head this way and that. He followed the familiar scent down past the stalls.

A door clicked open, someone swore, and a swarm of young, large black dogs was surrounding Derek’s legs. They didn’t jump or bark—they were all sniffing at him, their long, slender snouts poking at his hips, pockets, the backs of his hands, his shoes. They were all pitch black, with big ears, all pointing straight up. One of them was smaller than the rest, dancing around and through Derek’s ankles. 

“Point,” Scott snapped. “Down.”

The dogs froze, then sat instantly. 

“They’re still being trained,” Scott said apologetically. “They listen to those commands pretty well, but the stay and seek, we’re still working on.” 

“What for?” Derek looked down at the smallest, who had sat on his foot. 

She gazed back up at him adoringly, tongue flopping out. 

“Mostly for guarding the horses at night, scouting, poison detecting.”

Derek looked up sharply. “War?”

Scott nodded. “They’re outfitted in specially made armor.” He whistled between his teeth. “Go on, get back. Den!” he ordered sharply. 

They bounced away—except the one sitting on Derek’s foot, who pressed up against his leg.

He smiled and stroked her over-large ears. 

Scott sighed. “She’s probably never going to listen to orders,” he said sadly. “We get a few like that every now and then. She’s also the smallest of the bunch.” 

Derek’s back stiffened. “What do you do with the ones that don’t become war dogs?” he demanded. 

“Eh, keep them around. Most of them are good guard dogs for the livestock we keep on the other end of the property.” Scott’s gaze flicked down to the dog, all but flopped over Derek’s feet. “We also sometimes adopt them out. She seems to like you.”

“What breed are they?”

“Doberman mixes.”

Derek looked down at her. “They look a little like wolves. She’s the smallest and still pretty big, and they’re not fully grown, right?”

“Right.” Scott shrugged. “Some of them probably have wolf blood.” He crouched and scratched under the dog’s chin, smiling when she flopped onto her side. “Yeah, she’s way too friendly.”

Derek squatted to pet her, too, smiling when she squirmed around delightedly. 

She reminded him of shifting with his sisters, running happy and unburdened through the woods when they were younger.

Cora would be insulted, as if he was comparing her to a dog.

“You should keep her.”

Derek leaped to his feet.

Beside him, Scott rose much more easily.

Stilinski stood a few yards away, stroking the nose of a horse that had come to investigate. His hair clung to his temples with sweat, a flush riding high on his cheekbones.

Derek stared.

“That’s great!” Scott said brightly. “She’s already attached.” 

“Ah…” Derek finally blinked and cleared his throat. “I…” He shook himself and tried to think of what he was supposed to say when a king offered him a gift. “I thank you, Your Majesty. That’s very kind.”

The dog nudged him.

“She’ll get bigger—she’s only a few months old right now.”

“Thank you,” he repeated, looking down at her.

Stilinski said, “You’re welcome,” in a tone that had him looking up. His expression was still as even as it’d been before.

Scott clapped beside Derek. “Perfect. Let me find you some supplies for her. She can stay with you for the rest of your visit.” He looked around. “I’m sure I can find someone to care for her for-”

“I can do it,” Derek cut in. He smiled. “We can go on walks together.”

“Are you sure? We can find someone to do it for you.” Stilinski studied him.

He lifted his chin. “Yes, Your Majesty, I’m sure.”

A smile flickered over his face, there and gone in a second. “Then she’s yours.”

The dog yipped like she’d understood, bumping up against Derek’s legs and doing circles.

Stilinski nodded sharply and turned on his heel. He left at a quick clip. 

Scott sighed quietly. He bolstered himself. “I’ll get some things for her sent to your room. Be right back.”

Boyd leaned out of the stall their mares were sharing. “A dog? Really?”

He grinned. “She likes me.”

Boyd approached; his stern expression softened when the dog whined and brushed up against his legs. He sighed and stroked her ears. “Well, at least we’ll have company during the moon.”

“Yeah.” Derek looked toward where Stilinski had left.

“What’re you going to name her?”

“I’m not sure yet.” He scratched her neck. “I’ll decide when I get to know her better.”

“Hmm.”

 

After dinner, Derek found himself alone with the dog in his room while Boyd showered. “You’ve got some pretty gray eyes, hmm?” He was on the floor with her, watching her explore the room at top speed. 

She bounced over and flopped across his lap. She was up again in a second, racing across the room.

Derek grinned. “Your name is Mercury.”

She snuffled under the armoire.

He didn’t know why Stilinski had insisted he have her, or why it seemed like such a nice gesture was out of character. There were no stories or rumors of the Boy King being kind or needlessly cruel, selfless or selfish, so he wasn’t sure what any of it meant.

Mercury pounced on the large bone Scott had sent up along with some things for her. After a moment of chewing, she got bored and grabbed the rope next to it. She whipped it around with happy snarls, tail wagging frantically.

Derek smiled and shifted; it felt like the first time he’d relaxed since he’d left home. He pounced and grabbed the other end of the rope. 

She wagged her tail and dropped down in a play pose, eyes dancing gleefully.

Boyd found them playing tug, sighed, and joined in.   
 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!!!! I hope you enjoy this chapter! :D Sorry if there are typos, I didn't have a chance to go over it as thoroughly as I usually do at time of posting. <3

Breakfast was quiet the next morning; most of the soldiers had taken their food to go, so it was just sparse staff and Stilinski. Derek was seated with him, but Lady Martin had him thoroughly distracted by paperwork and snarling about the Steele king.

Stilinski never complained, though by the time he ate, his food was likely ice cold. “How’s your meal?” he asked, flicking his gaze to Derek’s plate.

“Fine. Delicious, actually. Your cook is talented.” He’d mostly finished already, but he’d been stalling, watching Stilinski and Lady Martin interact.

“Yes, she is.” Stilinski signed another document. “Have you been comfortable?”

“Yes, very much so.”

“And your new companion?” He smiled a little.

Derek smiled back. “She’s good. I’ve named her Mercury. I was thinking of taking her on a run after breakfast.”

“If you do, stick to the marked paths. For your safety,” he added when he noticed Derek’s expression, “Your Highness.”

He nodded slowly. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Stilinski’s eyes gleamed briefly with something like amusement before he looked away. “Good. Enjoy your run, Derek.” He stood abruptly, summoned by Lady Martin’s increasingly frustrated expression. 

 

Derek and Boyd took Mercury for a run when they’d all finished eating. They asked a member of staff to direct them to the longest path and took that one. They ran in their skin, deciding it would be less hassle than shifting. 

Derek loved it. He hadn’t realized how cooped up he’d felt until the moment he was running as fast as he could with no restraints. It wasn’t as good as home—it smelled weird, and he only had Boyd here—but it was close. The air was just chilly enough to have a bite, to keep them cool as they ran. 

“Tree,” Boyd said.

Derek saw it. “Log, actually,” he said, and ducked away laughing when Boyd swatted at him.

The tree had fallen into the path, recently, if the smell was anything to go by. It was still green at the top. 

Derek ran faster and leaped over it like a hurdle.

Boyd followed a second later and stopped. “You forgot Mercu-” he cut off as she sailed over it, plowing into his chest with a surprised yelp. 

She ran to Derek, doing circles around him like she wanted to be sure he’d seen her.

He bent to rub her head and back. “You okay?” He laughed when he saw Boyd glowering at him. “So…no?”

“That was a good jump,” he said instead of replying. He turned his face east, inhaling deeply. “We must be close to the ocean.”

Derek could smell it, too. “Must be.”

“Race?”

“Absolutely.” He straightened up, keeping a hand on Mercury’s back. “On three?”

“Okay.” Boyd began the countdown, and took off like a shot on three.

They were pretty equally matched at first, but Derek was the fastest in the pack, and pulled ahead as soon as Boyd winded himself. 

The path faded from grass to rocks to sand so abruptly that Derek stopped; Mercury didn’t.

She flew past and right into the surf.

“I think that means we both lost,” Boyd panted.

“The sand is black,” Derek pointed out. 

There was a beach near home, if they traveled far enough south, but it was nothing like this. The water was gray and churning, the sand black and coarse, feeding into cliffs that rose gradually out of the rocks.

Mercury ran back to them, her coat slick and shiny with water. She seemed proud of herself, walking circles around Boyd.

“Yeah, I heard the beach was like this,” Boyd said. “Also, it looks like it’s going to storm.”

Derek didn’t care. “Let’s stay a little while.”

Boyd nodded and walked closer to the water, his boots crunching over the coarse sand. 

Derek studied the beach. It was beautiful, in a moody, dark sort of way. He kind of liked it, even with the storm clouds closing in. He shook himself and looked around for a stick.

Mercury went nuts. With her boundless energy, she was enthralled by the new game and the space she had to play it.

They played fetch for a while, until Boyd caught the stick midair to tell Derek they should head back and got tackled for his efforts.

Derek laughed so loud he heard the echo off the cliffs. He let them wrestle for the stick while he watched the heavy clouds drawing closer. He wondered how long he should stay. 

Stilinski had said Derek should leave when he did—like an escort for a child, he thought with a scowl, though Derek was older than him. But how long would he wait to leave?

Derek’s family needed help _now_. He knew Stilinski had sent soldiers to assist and to assess how many they would need, but how long until they were overcome? He wondered if there was a reason Stilinski was waiting. Was he waiting _for_ something? He hadn’t asked for much in return for his help.

“Derek, it’s going to rain!” Boyd called. He had sand and scrapes all over him, disheveled and annoyed. 

Mercury pranced around with her stick.

“Did you lose a fight with a puppy?” he asked casually. He got tackled next. 

They got caught in the rain just as they were passing the log blocking the path; by the time they made it back to the training fields, they were soaked. 

“At least someone’s having fun,” Boyd shouted over the downpour. 

Mercury was a pretty happy dog, so Derek wasn’t surprised the rain wasn’t bringing her down. 

“There they are!”

Derek froze and looked up.

Several staff members rushed toward them with umbrellas. “His Majesty asked us to keep an eye out for you,” an older woman said, noticing Derek’s expression. “Come on, we’ll get you a warm bath and dry clothes.” She ushered them along.

Inside, they were toweled off by brisk and pushy staff before they could try to do it themselves—even Mercury, who took to the attention quite well. “Upstairs, we’ll get you both bathed and-”

“Thank you,” Derek said firmly, “I appreciate it very much, but we can handle the rest.”

The woman closed her mouth. She nodded and bowed, backing away. The rest followed her lead. 

Derek waited until they were all out of sight before going upstairs. “Maybe in a couple days we can go back to the beach, prepared, and swim.”

“Maybe. You know, a prince _probably_ shouldn’t be wandering around in a strange kingdom.”

He snorted. “I’m not the heir and we aren’t exactly a huge territory. No one wants me for ransom.” He elbowed Boyd lightly. “Besides, I’ve got you watching my back.”

Boyd smiled reluctantly and told Derek to go clean off while he fed Mercury.

 

Once in dry, clean clothes, Derek realized he was ravenous. He didn’t want to go down to the full kitchen, so he wandered into the apartment space across the hall from his room. As Stilinski had said, it was stocked. Derek ate three sandwiches, two apples, and two bananas before the hollow feeling of hunger wore off. He ran a hand through his still-wet hair and sighed to himself. If he wasn’t going home and wasn’t going to ask Stilinski any questions, he’d might as well learn what he could about the Stilinski kingdom while he was here.

He found some dusty history books that clearly hadn’t been touched in a while. They didn’t smell like Stilinski or anyone, really—just dust and ink, paper and the leather binding the pages together.

He settled at one of the tables, spreading the books across it. He pulled one closer, running his fingers over the cover. The Stilinski crest was stamped on the cover, the sword through the lily easily recognizable despite the lack of color. The raven was missing. Derek wondered which Stilinski had added it and when. 

The book Derek had started with was more a history of the land than the family, how the first of the Stilinskis had been farmers, had never really left their home. It’d started as a tiny farming town, who had looked to _Whatever_ -the-hell-that-name-was Stilinski for leadership.

Derek read until his eyes burned. He felt like this had been heavily edited. No one became royalty without shedding blood. At least werewolf kingdoms were up front about it. He slid his fingers over the desk as he read, feeling all the grooves from the scratches in the wood. One set had a familiar pattern to it, enough that he looked over, frowning.

_MS_ had been carved into the wood, uneven and just deep enough that it couldn’t be repaired easily. 

He smiled helplessly, imagining Stilinski as a child, probably too short for the chair and kicking his legs, bored of his lessons and wanting to leave his mark somewhere. 

“You should do that more.”

Derek jerked and found that he wasn’t as alone as he’d thought. 

Stilinski stood at another desk, watching him. He must’ve turned some lamps on while Derek was distracted; who knew how long he’d been there.

Derek felt himself close up. “Do what?” 

“Smile.” Stilinski nodded at the book. “Interesting?”

“It’s your family history.” 

“Oh?” He tipped his head. “Boring, then.”

Derek chuckled before he could stop himself.

Stilinski smiled his breathtaking smile.

“It’s actually pretty interesting,” Derek said, clearing his throat.

Stilinski wandered over and turned the book so he could read it. He winced, hissing slightly between his teeth. “Eesh, and I thought Mieczysław was a mouthful.” He pronounced it effortlessly.

Peter had spent weeks trying to teach Derek to say it without completely butchering it. He’d eventually suggested Derek just...avoid saying his name. It was like a mental block; Derek was usually very good with languages and names, but as soon as Peter made it a big deal, he'd become utterly incapable of pronouncing it.

“How have you read this much without a headache?”

“Werewolf healing,” he said without thinking, and flushed. 

Stilinski laughed. “I see.” He looked down at him and smiled again, a small, soft thing. “Your hair is damp.”

Derek reached for it automatically, grimacing when he felt it sticking up all over the place. “Boyd, Mercury, and I got caught in the storm.” 

“I thought you might.”

“Your staff is very helpful.”

Stilinski nodded, bracing his hands on the desk. His face was soft and open, somehow, his eyes expressive and easy to read. Standing like he was, their faces were close together; Derek had to look up at him, and he could smell him, metal and sweat and smoke.

Derek swallowed and tipped his chin, lining their faces up but not quite touching.

Stilinski’s gaze roved over his face, searching for something. His brows pulled together slightly, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip. 

Derek’s breath hitched. He looked into bright, curious brown eyes and couldn’t see the Boy King; just a young man, younger than him, even, with pretty eyes and a sort of goofy, rare laugh. He was leaning in before he knew it; he startled when their mouths touched, as if he hadn’t been the one moving.

Stilinski hadn’t moved at all, had made Derek go to him, and he had. He sighed against Derek’s mouth and pressed them together more firmly.

Footsteps cracked down the hall, moving closer so quickly that Derek reared back.

Stilinski straightened up just as the door opened. His expression was neutral, composed. “Yes?”

Lady Martin flicked a brief glance between them before addressing Stilinski. “We have a problem that needs dealing with immediately. It’s Steele,” she said, when he cocked his head.

“Lead the way.” He glanced at Derek, but his eyes had gone hard and flat, like a switch had flipped. He followed Lady Martin out.

Derek rubbed his lips together and swallowed. He looked at the initials carved into the desk and tried to piece together the man he’d kissed and the king who’d left with Lady Martin. He thought of the undersized breastplate in the armory.

He could only guess how quickly ambitious people would try to take a throne from a sixteen-year-old with no family. He wondered if Stilinski acted the way he did because he had to, because if he didn’t put on such a front, others would challenge him. 

That would certainly explain the two wars after Novak in such a short span of time. Lawson and Raken trying to take advantage of a perceived vulnerability made sense. Derek wondered if Stilinski learned to be the way he was after Lawson or if he knew when he returned from his father’s funeral. 

Boyd joined him sometime later, Mercury at his heels. “Are you alright? You look strange.”

“Thank you very much.”

Boyd rolled his eyes. “It’s nearly dinner. Did you want to head down?”

“No, you can go without me.”

Mercury put her head on his leg, grumbling until he rubbed her ears. 

“I don’t think-”

“Boyd.” Derek waved his free hand. “If, for some outrageous reason, someone laid siege on the castle of the Boy King right as you were going to eat, do you _truly_ believe the library would be their first target?”

“Just for that, I _am_ going to dinner without you.” He didn’t move though. “Seriously, you’re okay, right?”

“Yes. Go enjoy dinner. I’ll be down later.” Derek eyed his pile of books. “At the moment, I’m probably safer here than at home.”

“Yeah, sure. Just don’t forget to eat.” Boyd sighed and left. 

Mercury huffed and flopped across Derek’s feet. 

Outside, the storm rumbled, showing no signs of slowing. Derek stared at the rain spattering the window for a moment. Then he went back to the books. He wanted to know more about Stilinski, so if that meant skimming through the less relevant parts, so be it. The books still felt heavily censored, but he couldn’t figure out what could possibly have been taken out. It seemed the Stilinskis had always been mighty warriors, none had ever been made king or queen so young as Mieczysław, and that their generals had always been loyal and as ferocious as them, but it never went into detail. 

Derek wanted the details. 

Mercury yawned loudly. 

He sighed as his stomach clenched, lifting his gaze to the clock wedged between some books. “Terrible idea,” he muttered. “Next time I try to skip dinner, don’t let me.”

She licked his hand. 

He found Boyd in the hallway, heavy-eyed. “Your duties end at ten,” he said with a wry smile. “Go to sleep. Take her with you.” 

Boyd shook his head, fighting a yawn. “No, keep her with you. But I’m definitely going to bed.” He nudged Derek lightly before heading to his room. 

Derek shook his head. “Let’s see if there’s anything filling downstairs, hmm?”

This late, most of the lamps were off or low, giving the stone walls and marble floors an eerie cast. Derek hadn’t realized how much background noise there was before it was gone. Now it was just his footsteps and Mercury’s, her snuffling, curious breaths and rapid heartbeat. Her claws made tapping sounds on the marble that he found rather endearing.

The dining hall was dark and mostly empty—Stilinski and Sir Parrish were at a table together, speaking in low voices. 

Parrish noticed Derek first. “Your Highness.” He dipped his head respectfully. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He looked tired. 

Mercury went to investigate the two of them; Stilinski passed a hand over her ears, murmuring something that made her tail wag. 

“No, I was just coming to find food. I skipped dinner.”

His gaze darted to Stilinski and away. “I’ll let the cook know.”

“Oh, no, don’t disturb her,” he said quickly, horrified. “I was going to get it myself.” He nearly bent double as Mercury plowed into his knees.

“It’s my night chef,” Stilinski said. “He’s already making something for me, since I skipped dinner, too.” He gestured at the chair across from him. “Why don’t we eat together?”

Sir Parrish stood. “I’ll let Philip know.” He bowed, shot Derek an assessing look, and left. 

Derek studied Stilinski once they were alone; he hadn’t relaxed, like perhaps he thought they were being watched. “You worked late.” He stroked the thick fur at Mercury’s neck, letting it soothe his nerves.

“As did you. Were you looking for anything in particular?” A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth before he forced it away.

“No, nothing specific. I thought if our kingdoms were allies now, I’d better get to know yours.”

“And have you?”

Their gazes locked. 

Derek stared into his eyes and said, slowly, “Not nearly enough about you. Not as much as I’d like.” 

Stilinski looked surprised, a brief moment of weakness, before his even mask slipped back into place. “That isn’t nearly as interesting a topic as you’d think,” he said at last.

“I’m not sure you’re right, Your Majesty.”

“Stiles,” he corrected.

Derek tipped his head forward respectfully. “Stiles,” he repeated.

Mercury whined and wiggled away from Derek, half-climbing into Stilinski’s lap. 

He chuckled and scrubbed a hand briskly down her back. “Bad manners.” He looked into her eyes and huffed. “Oh, I see where you’ve gotten your name.”

“That was a factor, but it was actually-”

Mercury tore off across the room, doing a lap with her tongue hanging out in joy.

“-that.”

Stilinski covered his mouth, eyes dancing. “I see. Scott said the runt of that litter was a bit hyper.”

Derek smiled helplessly back.

Sir Parrish returned as their food was brought out. “I’m turning in, Your Majesty, unless you need anything.”

“No, I’m good. Goodnight.” 

Parrish bowed and left.

“Thank you, Teresa, Elliot,” Stilinski said to the people who’d brought their food out.

Derek watched as they both flushed and left the room.

Mercury gave chase.

He half-rose, but Stilinski shook his head.

“They’ll take her back to your room,” he promised.

It occurred to Derek that he was alone with him now. He could ask about anything—the wars, any of the three, when they were leaving…what had happened in the library. He looked at his plate and started to eat.

They ate mostly in silence; Derek couldn’t unstick his tongue enough to say anything.

“Are you okay?”

He looked up, shocked. “P-pardon?”

“You seem like you want to say something, but you keep stopping for some reason.” 

Derek swallowed, flushing guiltily. “Oh.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.” That was the problem.

Stilinski nodded and went back to his meal.

Derek finished eating just after he did. He felt ridiculous, but Stilinski wasn’t leaving, either. He examined his face, the scar on the curve of his jaw, the one near his eye that he hadn’t noticed before. “Do you—I mean, did you…upstairs…”

Stilinski dipped his chin, flicking his gaze aside. “That was nice,” he said softly. 

Derek’s heart tripped. “Yeah,” he said, and somehow they were kissing again.

Stilinski’s hands hovered near Derek’s face before settling uncertainly on his shoulders. His mouth was soft and yielding, eager to let Derek take the lead, which he personally thought was a good way to get nowhere. He was still grappling with the idea that it was happening at all.

They were leaning up against the table; Derek’s right hand curled around the edge. He lifted his other hand, pressing his thumb into the scar on Stilinski’s jaw and stroking until he gasped. He licked into his mouth, tasting past his dinner to the taste of _him_.

Stilinski groaned, hands clenching on Derek’s shoulders. He pulled his mouth away, nipping across Derek’s jaw and cheek.

Derek pressed a kiss to the scar he’d been stroking, trailing a line down Stilinski’s throat. His pulse pounded, tapping a frantic beat against Derek’s lips.

They kissed and moved and _were_ moving and somehow Derek was pressing Stilinski up against a door while he fumbled to get it open behind his back.

“We-we can—are you— _argh,_ ” Stilinski gasped. He finally got the door open, letting them stumble into the room.

It smelled only of him in here, surrounding them and filling Derek’s lungs. 

Stilinski’s hands dropped to Derek’s waist, bunching his shirt up until his rough palms slid against his bare skin.

He leaned back and pulled his shirt over his head. 

He paused, eyeing him.

“What?”

“Do you use all those books for weight lifting?” 

“Ah…no.” And then he kissed him again, because he didn’t know what else to do. He sighed, enjoying the feeling of Stilinski’s hands against his skin.

They tumbled onto the bed as Stilinski tried to get his pants off.

Derek panted against his throat, flicking his tongue out to lap at the sweat gathering there.

Stilinski—Stiles, he could probably call him Stiles, since they were writhing against each other, naked, in bed—flipped him over and licked and bit his way down Derek’s chest. He bit his thigh lightly, then swiped over the bite with his tongue. “You okay, big guy?”

Derek grinned down at him. “You should lay back and let me do that. It’s undignified for a king to— _ahh_ , okay,” he gasped as Stiles closed his mouth over him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give up, once a week is not fast enough for me. x.x So now, I'll be posting on Tuesdays and Saturdays. Enjoy! <3 Thank you for your comments. They make the frustration and research worth it.

Stiles was an affectionate, generous lover. He curled around Derek when they were both too exhausted to do more and promptly fell asleep. His face was tucked in the crook of Derek’s neck, mouth open slightly. Derek was helpless to do anything but follow him to dreamland.

 

He was already getting dressed when Derek woke up, speaking to Lady Martin through the door about an issue with King Steele. He noticed Derek sitting up and smiled briefly, even leaning over to brush a kiss over his bruised-feeling mouth, before he held a finger up to his lips and headed for the door. When he opened it, it was just wide enough for him to get out without letting Lady Martin see in.

“What did you do?” she asked suspiciously.

Derek held his breath. 

“Nothing. What has Steele done this time?”

He let it out. He didn’t want to overreact; after all, what king was going to admit to premarital sex with a prince from another kingdom, especially to his advisor? But it still made him feel a little bad, as if when Stiles had said he’d done nothing, he’d been referring to Derek as nothing. Which was ridiculous. He pleated the sheets pooling around his waist through his fingers. What was this, anyway? Derek had slept with people before, but he’d never been _this_ quick to jump into bed with anyone. His usual casual partners were people he’d known for a while, and trusted. 

He swallowed and looked around the room, feeling a pang of regret, especially since he now didn’t know where he stood with Stiles. 

He obviously didn’t want anyone knowing Derek was there. 

He got up and pulled on his clothes from the day before. He glanced at the bed and grimaced. What if Stiles had thought— He shook himself. _Surely not._

But what if he considered… _that_ payment for his help with the Argents and Calaveras? Derek swallowed, feeling small and used, and left the room. He paused in the hall, listening for anyone coming. He heard footsteps and froze, his heart slamming against his ribs. He looked around.

Stiles’s quarters were big, with multiple halls and doors branching out around his bedroom.

Derek followed one left, listening hard for the light chatter of the cleaning staff, and found himself in a dusty sitting room. It looked more lived in than any part of the castle that Derek had seen; the maroon sofa was worn and faded, there was a stack of battered books on the end table, and the rug was almost…tattered. There was a single large window, flanked by a portrait on each side. One was a fair-haired man, with kind eyes and a look of authority about him; King John. The other was a woman, undoubtedly the late Queen Claudia.

Stiles looked a lot like her, down to their lively eyes and moles, the way they could look both calculating and warm at the same time.

Derek dropped his gaze. At least Stiles had something of his parents around. He frowned. 

Set neatly under the window was a trunk, heavy black and locked, shiny and newer-looking than anything in the room. He inhaled briefly. His frown deepened and he took a step forward automatically. It smelled like books. He snorted at himself, backing up and shaking his head. Why would anyone lock up _books?_

He waited until he heard the hallway empty before leaving the little sitting room. Then he just followed the sounds of voices and feet against the floor until he was passing the dining hall. It was early enough that there were only a few people in the dining room, mostly talking among themselves.

Derek, not very hungry, slipped by without looking in. Unfortunately, Lady Martin and Stiles were on their way to the dining room at the same time. He stepped back hastily after almost running into Stiles. “S—I beg your pardon,” he stammered.

“Did you need something, Your Highness?”

“Oh—no, I was just heading to my room.”

Lady Martin lifted a brow. “Was the food not palatable yesterday?”

“No, it was—it was terrific.”

“Then you should join us for breakfast. I’ll have someone let your knight know where you’ve gone.” 

Derek glanced at Stiles.

He looked neutral and put together, despite the fact that Derek could still smell himself on his skin, could practically still taste his mouth. 

“Alright,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble.” Lady Martin ushered them out of the hallway. 

General Reyes, Scott, Sir Parrish, and Lady Martin joined their table for breakfast. It seemed more natural than Stiles eating alone with Derek. They discussed Steele while they waited. 

“He hasn’t outright issued a challenge,” Lady Martin said. “He’s being a nuisance because he thinks he can provoke you.”

“Looking for ways to hit you where it hurts,” Parrish agreed. “He doesn’t know where that is yet.”

Reyes made a furious sound. “I say we call the coward in himself and have them settle it-”

“Erica,” Lady Martin chided. “That isn’t how this will work.”

Stiles said, “He hasn’t done anything aggressive or hostile yet. Petty and annoying is easily managed by higher consequences.”

“Such as?” Lady Martin’s voice was brittle.

“Steele is greedy.” He tipped his head at her, waiting until she nodded. “So we’ll fine him every time he sends people here. Not the people he sends, but him directly. If he doesn’t pay, we continue to fine him until he makes a move. Or we can be more physically aggressive,” he added. “If you think that’s better.”

She closed her mouth. “He doesn’t like parting with money,” she admitted grudgingly. “And I suppose fining him makes you seem fairer than detaining so-called innocent travelers and merchants would.”

“Precisely.” 

Reyes snorted furiously. 

“How’s your meal, Your Highness?” Scott asked kindly. “You aren’t eating much.”

“It’s good. I’m just tired.” He smiled briefly and took a bite. He felt Stiles watching him but didn’t look up. He’d seen enough to know his expression would be empty. He didn’t need a visual warning not to tell anyone about their night. The eggs in his mouth tasted like sawdust. 

When Stiles and Parrish slipped out to the training field and Scott to the stables, Derek found himself following, if for no other reason than he didn’t know what else to do with himself.

He was obviously a glutton for punishment, but he couldn’t help himself.

Thankfully, Scott noticed him and distracted him for a few minutes asking about Mercury and giving him training tips. “She’s had months of training to smell for poison and obedience, but she’s too hyper and friendly to join the ranks, so to speak.”

“I see.”

Scott followed his gaze and smirked. “Well, I’ve got horses to tend and stable hands to wake up. Let me know if Mercury needs anything.”

He looked away from Stiles. “I will.” He grimaced guiltily and hoped Scott just thought he liked Stiles’s sparring form. It was true, anyway. He turned to watch them fight.

No one else was out training yet, so it was easy to hear their voices. Derek realized while watching that Parrish was older than he’d first thought, somewhere in his mid to late forties. The realization made it easier to see that Parrish was _training_ Stiles, giving him firm instructions after every landed blow.

“Steele is a wolf, and he’s testing your weaknesses. He’s testing you before he comes at you. Now that we have Argent and Calavera as enemies, we can’t afford Steele to make a move. Stiles.” Parrish landed a hard hit to his jaw, sending him stumbling back. “Pay attention.”

He nodded and squared his shoulders. 

Derek watched. It looked pretty good to him, but Parrish corrected Stiles a few times, reminding him that knowing the moves now would prevent overexertion or strain later. Derek guessed that made some kind of sense. Sort of.

They finished just as the sword master was bringing a class out to the field. She lifted her hand in a wave, which Stiles returned. “A word, Your Majesty?”

“Of course.” He went to her as he pulled his boots on.

Sir Parrish, to Derek’s alarm, was heading straight for him. “Prince Derek,” he greeted.

“Sir Parrish.” He felt nervous suddenly, though he had no reason to. No one knew, and besides that, they were both consenting adults.

Parrish examined him, eyes boring into his until it felt like his soul had been thoroughly frisked. “If you hurt him, you had better hope you’re well and truly out of my reach… _Your Highness._ ”

Derek gaped soundlessly, stunned at the idea of seeming like a threat to the Boy King. “I won’t—I wouldn’t-”

“Good. Don’t.” He nodded sharply. His gaze was hard and unwavering and unmistakably protective.

It occurred to Derek that if Parrish was in his forties, he’d have still been a knight when King John was killed. He might have even been on the battle field that day, and had almost certainly known Stiles for years before then.

“I won’t,” he repeated more firmly. He wouldn’t, even if he thought he could.

“Derek.” Stiles approached. “I wanted to let you know that General Reyes, Sir Parrish, and I have arranged to send another regiment of soldiers to your kingdom’s aid.”

“Thank you.”

“When we receive word from Reyes’s lieutenant about the situation, we’ll know the best way to approach this.” He was speaking in a measured tone, like he was addressing a stranger.

_We don’t know each other,_ Derek reminded himself harshly. “Okay. Thank you.” He looked over his shoulder. “Excuse me, Your Majesty,” he murmured. “I should go let Sir Boyd know where I am.” He thought he saw a flash of surprise or something on Stiles’s face, but he could’ve imagined it. He made a quick, shallow bow and left; he hadn’t quite made it inside when Parrish spoke.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Let’s go again.”

Derek went to his room. He needed a shower. 

He kept himself busy with Boyd and Mercury all day; they went for a run and wound up at the beach again, only the storm had gone, so they stayed for longer. They swam and played tag and chase and fetch until even Mercury was exhausted.

“Something happen?” Boyd asked after they had lunch.

“No,” he replied, and decided he should go read. He couldn’t concentrate on the history books, so he dug out a fictional title and settled in one of the armchairs.

“You’re acting strange and you used scented soap,” Boyd said as they were having dinner alone, at the table in the second floor kitchen. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, tossing a piece of meat at Mercury.

She nipped it out of the air and swallowed it in one gulp.

“Something obviously happened. Come on.”

“Stiles is sending more soldiers,” he said, hoping to distract him.

“Stiles? He’s Stiles now?”

Derek felt his face flush. “That’s what he asked me to call him,” he said coolly.

“You sound like Peter when you talk like that.”

He was so horrified he forgot to be embarrassed. “Ugh, don’t _say_ that. What should we do tomorrow? I say we pack some food and just stay gone all day.”

Boyd snorted. “’Kay. When you’re ready to talk, I’m all ears.”

“Sure,” he mumbled.

He went back to the library after Boyd went to bed. Mercury was so tired from their run and the long walk Derek took her on after dinner that she fell asleep on her side under one of the desks. Derek kept reading. If he stopped, his unoccupied brain tried to _think_ , and he wasn’t in the mood for that.

“Hey.” 

He looked up, unsurprised to find Stiles entering the library.

He was smiling, his hair messed up from the neat style he’d worn earlier.

Derek’s heart jumped a little. “Hey.” 

Stiles’s smile widened. He approached Derek’s chair and leaned down, kissing him all soft and slow like he had any right.

Derek’s hands opened and closed around his book. He sighed and kissed him back, helpless to resist.

When Stiles suggested they go to his quarters, Derek just nodded against his throat, breathing hard. Stiles tumbled him to the bed and kept kissing him for a while, their legs tangling together. “Missed you at dinner. Did you—eat?” His voice broke when Derek pressed his thigh between his legs.

“Yeah, I ate.” He shoved his pants off, deciding that if all they had between them was sex, then he’d might as well enjoy it.

Stiles pulled his own clothes off, too, mouthing at Derek’s neck and chest as he did. “Hard to concentrate during my meetings today. Would’ve preferred to just skip it all with you.” He rubbed his cheek against Derek’s chest.

Derek ran his hands over Stiles’s chest and torso. His fingers hesitated at a scar on his right shoulder, thick and knotted tissue raised enough to drag his attention away from Stiles’s mouth. “What-”

“Old. It’s old.” Stiles nudged his jaw with his mouth until he turned and kissed him.

Derek kept kissing him, shuddering out hard gasps when his hands explored his chest and hips. 

This wasn’t all that bad—he could live with just this. He rolled them over.

Stiles sprawled on his back on the mound of pillows, watching Derek with a lifted brow. 

Derek straddled him. “I want it like this,” he said bluntly, and flushed a little when Stiles grinned. “What?”

“Nothing—you’re just more straightforward than I thought you’d be.”

“I know what I want.” He tilted his head. “Do you?”

“Absolutely.” He surged up and kissed him, holding his chin to keep their faces close. He sat back panting, eyes moving as he searched Derek’s expression. “Alright. I have…there’s…” He trailed off, fumbling for the first time Derek had seen. He straightened. “I have oil. If that’s what you meant.”

“Yes.”

Stiles kissed him again before reaching for a drawer on his bedside table.

Derek stayed on top of him the whole time, so they could still kiss and mouth at each other. He’d been with men before, just like this—the closeness, the fullness, the warmth and sweat and heat—and yet nothing like this—Stiles was human but _strong_ , covered in scars and babbling in his ear about how good he looked and how right he felt; Stiles smelled so good, them together and sweat and metal and-

Derek pressed his face into Stiles’s neck, resting his fangs against his skin but not even coming close to biting as he gasped through his orgasm.

Stiles’s hands convulsed on his hips, pulling him closer and sealing them together as he followed him over the edge. Chest heaving, he slumped back against the wall behind his bed. He pulled Derek with him, burying his face against his throat.

Derek was still shivering a little, so he didn’t mind. He’d always liked to linger, and Stiles didn’t seem to be kicking him out just yet. He sighed, content, and leaned his chin against Stiles’s sweaty head.

“Cold?” he mumbled, sweeping his hands up and down Derek’s back. He didn’t wait for an answer, yanking a blanket up over the both of them. He tilted his head back and trailed gentle, easy kisses over his throat and jaw. He smiled. “I guess you heal from love bites pretty fast.”

He nodded.

“Probably good. The people might wonder who mauled the Hale prince.” His eyes gleamed mischievously.

Derek snorted, leaning forward. “I don’t think anyone would care.”

“Oh?”

He nodded again. “Not when they’re wondering where this came from.” He swiped a finger against the reddened skin on the lower left side of Stiles’s neck where his scruff had scraped him.

Stiles went tense.

“Your jacket will cover it, Your Majesty,” he said lightly. “It could be from anything.”

“That’s…alright.” He sighed and closed his eyes, tipping his head back against the wall. 

Derek noticed he looked tired, shadows under his eyes, his skin pale under the flush that was already fading. He touched a fingertip to the skin under his eye. “You need more sleep.”

His mouth quirked, but he didn’t open his eyes yet. “Yes, so everyone says.” He sighed again and finally looked at him. “I have to clean up. Sorry.”

Derek shrugged and moved off him. “I assume you staff wants you presentable for morning meetings.”

“It is a preference of theirs.” He leaned in and caught Derek’s mouth in a soft, lingering kiss. He went to the bathroom humming to himself.

Derek waited until the door was closed to get his clothes and dress. He glanced around and inhaled. It wasn’t Stiles’s fault he couldn’t shake the feeling of being used, like this was something they had to hide. He’d done casual before. It wasn’t that. It was just…

No matter how casual, none of his partners had ever pretended it hadn’t happened, and that was how this thing felt with Stiles. Like a shameful secret.

He wasn’t sure if it was worth continuing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesss, this posting schedule is much better. This way it gets posted faster, I still have time to read over the chapters for typos (my beta bailed on me e.e), and everyone is happy! I can't wait for everyone to read the whole story!! <3

Derek kept going back. Stiles may have been distant and at arms’ length during the day, but Derek _liked_ who he was at night, when he would find Derek in whatever part of the castle he’d wandered to and invite him back to his quarters. Six days after they’d initially started this, whatever _this_ was, found them swapping stories about their childhoods; Stiles spoke of his childhood before King John had died, never quite broaching that topic. 

“It was like clockwork,” he laughed. “Every spring and every fall, he would pull that battered book off the shelf. When I was very little, he’d read it to me. When I got older, he’d have me read a chapter at a time and we’d discuss it.” He sighed sadly. “I haven’t read it in a while.”

Derek swallowed nervously. “I did.”

His gaze snapped up. “What? When?”

“I…when I first arrived.” He held his breath.

Stiles smiled. “Good. I like the idea that it’s being read by _someone._ ” He lifted a brow. “So how’d you like it?”

He spent a few minutes detailing his favorite parts of _Child of the Chasm_ , embellishing on his initial reactions a bit, just to watch Stiles’s expressions. He watched him as he spoke; his gaze was soft and fond, his scent warm and welcoming like he’d rather be nowhere else. “I liked it,” Derek finished, flushing. 

“I’m glad.” Stiles trailed a finger over the back of Derek’s hand. “What about you? Do you have any favorites at home?”

He snorted. “A few. My sisters trained to fight; I read. It’s been quite harrowing for my mother. She’s concerned.”

“Why?”

“She thinks I’ll be bored or feel useless, but Peter, my uncle, reminds her that not everyone grows up to be a warrior.” 

“And you’re not useless,” Stiles said hotly.

He lifted a brow. “It could be argued that I have no worthwhile skills.”

“Bull. You’re a linguist, and as much as you enjoy reading fiction, you know quite a bit about the continent’s geography for someone who rarely leaves home.” 

Derek’s mouth hung open. “How—how—I-”

He snorted. “I can also read, Your Highness, and I like to know who’s in my home.”

“Right.” He made himself shrug. “I’ve got an ear for languages.” He cleared his throat. “Peter tried teaching Laura and Cora some other languages, but gave up when Laura escaped through a window and Cora changed mid-lesson to her fur.” 

Stiles laughed. He leaned his head on his upturned palm. He was stretched out on his side like a big, powerful cat sunning itself. “What do you look like, when you…change?”

Derek glanced over his shoulder.

Mercury was in the room with them this time, sprawled near the door chewing on a bone.

“Black, like her, only with a wider, shorter muzzle. Bigger. We look like wolves, mostly. Possibly a bit bigger.” He shrugged. “The full moon is soon. You’ll see.”

“What’s that like? Are you…forced to change?” His gaze flickered with some emotion Derek couldn’t read. “Do you control it?”

“Yes, we can control it. We don’t _have_ to change. It’s just a pull, easily resisted as an adult. It’s nice, but not always possible to change on the full moon. Boyd and I planned to take Mercury with us when we go for a run on the full moon.”

Stiles looked disappointed, though Derek had no clue why he would be. “Where?” His voice was genuinely inquisitive, as if he cared about the answer.

“Probably just around the training fields.” He grinned. “I promise we won’t eat your livestock.”

Stiles laughed again. “I didn’t think you would.” His gaze swept up and down. “I bet you’re beautiful.”

“What?”

“When you’re shifted. I bet you’re a gorgeous wolf. Big, powerful predator.” He bared his teeth in a smile.

Derek snorted. “When I was six, Laura was teaching me to hunt—rabbits and small stuff—and the first time we actually caught anything, I went running home to tell our father. I wouldn’t call myself a predator.”

He laughed even more. “That’s sweet.” He shifted onto his back and stretched his arms over his head. The motion pulled his skin taut, making his scars stand out stark white. One grazed long and thin over his ribs. It looked old.

“What is that one from?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

Stiles’s hand dropped to it, as if he knew without even looking to see what Derek’s gaze was on.

“You don’t have to tell me, I shouldn’t have asked-”

“It’s fine.” He peeled his fingers away, running them up the length of it. “It happened the night my dad died.” 

Derek nodded, dropping his gaze. He tried to keep quiet, but his curiosity felt like an itch he couldn’t scratch, and… “Why were you out there that day?” He braced himself, sure he’d pushed his luck too far. 

Stiles looked at him, examining his face for a long, silent moment while his heart tried to pound its way out of his chest. “Are you afraid of me?” His voice was perfectly even, devoid of emotion.

Derek held his gaze. “Yes, a little bit.”

He was quiet a moment. “I wasn’t supposed to be out there. Obviously, I wasn’t supposed to be there. I was the sole heir, I should’ve been safe at home.” He swallowed. “But it was unbearable, waiting here to find out whether or not my father had _died_. When I got there, I thought he was going to explode, he was so furious.” He moved his shoulders restlessly, as if forcing himself to relax was going to make the story less painful. “He was distracted. He used to be really good at seeing through bullshit, but I distracted him.” His gaze stayed on the ceiling unwaveringly. “That’s why when Ennis Novak offered an armistice, he believed him. He wasn’t paying close enough attention.” His voice flattened out. “Ennis killed him while he was asleep, while I was just four feet from him. I hadn’t quite fallen asleep yet, but I was close. He swung at me with his sword, but I moved and he mostly missed.” He ran his fingers over the scar. “I had a knife on me, always did, and I managed to cut his hand.”

Derek glanced at him when he remained quiet; it was clear he was caught up in the memory of it. 

His gaze was distant, his face paling even as Derek watched.

He wondered what it must’ve been like, to be sixteen, his only family slain only feet from him, while the killer tried to finish the job on him. He shuddered at the thought of losing either of his parents, brutally or otherwise. Werewolves had long natural lives. He knew the Argent/Calavera attack could kill them. He just preferred not to think of it.

Stiles cleared his throat. “Then I killed him and finished the war.” His gaze slowly moved back down to Derek.

He looked broken open and vulnerable, tired. Like whatever questions Derek asked might be answered, because he didn’t have the energy to deflect. 

Derek pressed a light kiss to his mouth. “Thanks.”

He looked startled. “What for?”

“Sharing. You didn’t have to tell me.” 

He smiled a little. “You’re the first one who asked why I was there instead of how I did it.” He looked at the clock on his bedside table and sighed. “It’s nearly dawn.”

“Oh.” He laughed a bit at himself. “I didn’t realize.”

Stiles sat up, but he kept looking down, watching his fingers move restlessly over the blanket. “I could go get some food for us. We could have breakfast in here, together. Before Lydia comes to harass me about Steele.” 

Derek smiled. “I’d like that.” 

While he was getting the food, Derek took a moment to really look at the room. The walls were soft, dark green, the blankets deep burnt orange. There were so many pillows that Derek didn’t know how they both fit on the bed at the same time. It _was_ a big bed, and soft. There was a closet and a bathroom, and a door that smelled mostly like dust; Derek thought maybe it was another emergency escape door. He wondered why there were quite so many, and then answered his own question. What young king who’d had three wars in less than a decade _wouldn’t_ be paranoid? Derek wondered if anyone had ever tried to assassinate Stiles. If anyone had, they hadn’t lived to tell about it.

He ran his hands restlessly over the blankets pooled at his waist. He somehow kept ending up in Stiles’s bed without Stiles to occupy him. Should he just leave? That would be rude. Stiles had specifically asked him to have breakfast together. Hopefully it meant something. 

Stiles returned soon after with a covered tray of food. 

Mercury shot up on all fours when she caught the scent of it. 

“No,” he said firmly, stepping around her. He grinned at Derek. “I had to cook it myself, so I can only hope it’s edible. I haven’t cooked anything in years, that was fun.” He set the tray on the bed and climbed in, looking gleeful. “We have eggs, soggy toast, sausage that was made before I actually heated it up, so that’s not really my doing.” He pulled the cover off. “I also grabbed some fruit, because I noticed how much you like the pears and limes.”

Derek laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, I’m…yeah.” He picked up one of the cubed bits of pear. The burst of sweetness made him smile. 

Stiles smiled back.

By the time they finished, the sound of people moving about could be heard outside the room. Derek listened for Lady Martin’s heels while Stiles was setting the tray on his bedside table. He didn’t hear anything.

Stiles leaned in, cupping his chin in his palm and pulling him in for a kiss. He hummed in the back of his throat, pressing his thumb against Derek’s bottom lip.

A quick knock at the door made Derek squeeze his eyes shut tighter, fisting his hand in the soft pajama shirt Stiles ws wearing.

He broke the kiss after a second knock, gasping. “I should really—I have to go. And you should get some sleep.” He rolled his shoulders. “I wish I could, too, but we’re meeting with some people today who had a crisis and—it’s too important to skip.”

Derek dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry. I should’ve let you sleep-”

“No, I enjoyed last night. This morning. Both. Get some sleep, alright? I’ll see you later.” He climbed out of bed. “Coming, Lydia, let me get dressed!”

“Fine. You’d better be ready in ten.”

He was ready in less than that, leaning over to give Derek a lingering goodbye kiss. “Get some sleep,” he repeated, before leaving. 

Derek waited until he couldn’t hear their footsteps any longer to get dressed. He knew Stiles was being considerate, reminding Derek to go back to his own guest room and sleep, but every prompt to leave stung a little more. 

Mercury whined and pressed her muzzle against his leg

He stroked her head, scratching through her soft fur until he was steady enough to leave the room. He wondered if he could accept that this was just how it would be, being with the Boy King. 

He thought maybe he could. He _liked_ the way Stiles was behind closed doors: funny and kind and gentler than he thought possible, sweet and pliant when he felt like it.

Derek laughed quietly. 

Peter would be _furious_ at the idea of his nephew being a—what? A kept man for the king, or something. A sexual companion?

He snickered to himself. Peter would be enraged at the idea of them, together, not equals but certainly something. Even if his heart felt a little bruised—foolish, of course it wasn’t his heart, just his pride—at least he could laugh at all the ways he could imagine Peter reacting.

He suddenly, desperately wanted to talk to Laura; she wouldn’t try to spare his feelings or get so caught up in the titles that she disregarded the emotions. 

Mercury let out a noise caught between a bark and a whine, like she was trying to speak.

Derek snorted. “You tell ’em,” he muttered.

Boyd met him halfway up the stairs. “Hey, you’re up early.” He peered into his face. “You look exhausted. Were you going back to bed?”

“Yeah. I was just…getting some early breakfast.”

He frowned, nose twitching. “I smell coconuts.”

Derek flushed. “Huh.” He cleared his throat. “Um…where were you heading?”

“To meet with Erica—er, General Reyes. She offered to train me a bit on their fighting techniques. I figured it couldn’t hurt. I’m good, but she’s better.”

He nodded. “Alright. Enjoy your training. I think I’m going to sleep for a while.” He yawned.

“Okay.” Boyd hesitated. “Do you need me to stay?”

“No. I’m fine. I’m going to write a letter to Laura,” he said, as the idea came to him. “I probably won’t send it, but it’ll give me something to do.”

“Okay.” He was still frowning, but he went down the rest of the stairs.

Mercury bolted up the rest and waited for Derek at the top.

Instead of going to his room, he went to the library. This time he bypassed the books to hunt down some paper and a pen. He found a fountain pen in a drawer with the letters _JMS_ engraved into the side. 

He sat at a desk to write, unsurprised as everything came out on paper. He kept details to himself, like what Stiles had told him about the night his father died, but he told Laura everything else. Laid out like that, he realized he was being ridiculous. 

Rushing in headlong with a man he barely knew, getting all twisted up over that man’s caution. He ended the letter with an acknowledgment of that, as well as a plead for her to tell him what to do and his signature. He sealed it into an envelope and addressed it, though he doubted he would send it. He certainly wasn’t going to ask _Stiles_ to procure a courier for him. 

Derek took Mercury for a quick walk before he went to his room. Exhausted, he flopped face down on the bed. He smiled when Mercury crawled under his arm, her cold nose pressing against his neck.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this chapter. ^^ Unbeta'd
> 
> In a couple chapters, additional tags will be added so keep an eye out. ;)
> 
> **Edit:** this chapter has now been beta'd by the very brave and helpful [rozurashii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rozurashii/). Thank you!

Derek woke, groggy and overheated. He'd slept away the entire afternoon, according to his clock. He looked around, flapping at the shade, and pulled until he could see outside. It was raining again, pitch dark.

Mercury grumbled and climbed off the bed, going for her own in the corner. 

“You awake?” Boyd called through the door.

“Uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat and sat up. His clothes were wrinkled and smelled like sweat and sleep, stale. He cringed. “Do I have time to wash up before dinner?”

“Yes, and please do.” 

“Thanks.”

Boyd let himself in while Derek was gathering a change of clothes. “So, His Majesty came by to speak to the general while we were training.”

Derek fumbled the belt he’d grabbed. He snatched it before it hit the floor. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yes. Funny, he smelled like coconuts, too, but I didn’t see any at breakfast.”

“Strange.”

“Mm,” Boyd agreed. “He seemed kind of strange after lunch, but Parrish had him sparring, so I couldn’t get close enough to figure out why.”

“You don’t say.” Derek sidestepped him and closed himself in the bathroom. He allowed himself four measured breaths before he stripped his clothes off.

Dinner was being served by the time they made it down.

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” Derek said hastily. “I overslept.”

Stiles barely looked at him. “It isn’t a problem.” Then he turned to Lady Martin and began discussing a budget plan.

Derek sat down beside Boyd, feeling as though he’d done something wrong.

Stiles was acting the same as he always did during the day, though perhaps a bit more dismissive, but his scent…

His scent was shot through with something bitter and sharp, as clear a warning as any to stay away. 

Derek didn’t know what he’d done _wrong_. Surely Stiles didn’t care _that_ much about timeliness; he hadn’t seemed angry the other times Derek had been late to a meal or skipped one altogether. He’d left as he’d asked that morning, hadn’t told anyone about them…Maybe someone had seen him? But that couldn’t be _his fault_ , he’d been careful.

He stressed about it all through dinner; he felt even worse when Stiles finished his meal at top speed and excused himself.

Sir Parrish left with him, after tossing a truly venomous glare Derek’s way.

“Whoa,” Boyd muttered. “What was that?”

He shook his head. “No clue.” He poked at his food.

“Want to go running after dinner?”

“No,” he mumbled. “But you can go if you want.”

He studied him or a second. “Alright. I’ll take Mercury with me so she can get some fresh air.”

“Thanks.”

He nodded. 

Lady Martin leaned in. “Can I have something else sent out, Your Highness?” At his confused look, she said, “You’re barely eating.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” He forced himself to take a bite, even though his appetite had fled.

He went to the library while Boyd and Mercury went on their run; not because he felt like reading but because he just couldn’t think of anything else to do. He found a map of the continent and found his gaze dropping to the Steele kingdom. He’d never gone to his kingdom, but he’d met King Steele. He’d come for Derek’s great-grandmother’s funeral and the feast they’d held for her life celebration.

He was power-hungry, he’d spoken three languages, and got incredibly offended that Derek had known four at the time.

Laura hadn’t liked him, either, mostly because he kept hitting on her and Peter in turns. That was probably _why_ she’d told him Derek could speak four languages to his three.

Derek studied the map, gaze tracking the route Steele’s people would have to take to get to Stilinski land. He’d have to cut through Calavera territory or risk cutting through Harel’s territory and pissing her off.

He’d probably gone through Calavera. Then Ito, though that would take them to the furthest point possible from the palace. Or they could’ve gone through Argent’s land, though that seemed far-fetched. Steele was a werewolf kingdom, too. Cutting through one hostile territory like the Calaveras was bad enough, but following up with a second? Absurd to the point of suicidal. 

Derek shook his head. What would the point be anyway? They weren’t getting close to the palace, so what did any of that tell them about Stiles? He swallowed and stepped away. Maybe he would find something to read.

He fell asleep curled up in a reading chair and woke up alone.

 

He skipped dinner the next night, creeping down at half past ten to get something to eat when he couldn’t take it anymore.

Stiles and Parrish were in the dining room. 

He could hear them before he got past the armory. He stopped midstride. He could just go outside and catch something to eat. He didn’t like it, but he’d gotten better at letting instinct take over when he was hungry and in his fur. He rubbed his palms against his thighs. He’d avoided Stiles as much as he could all day, not that it’d taken much—Stiles seemed to be avoiding him, too. He swallowed. This was stupid. He’d done what Stiles had wanted, it wasn’t his fault Stiles was failing to communicate whatever had upset him.

Derek stalked to the dining hall, all but shaking with self-righteous fury. Stiles could be as cold and petty as he’d like; Derek had been raised by the poise of Talia Hale, the brains of Oliver Hale, and the icy pettiness of Peter Hale. He could be the picture of princely grace when he wanted.

They stopped talking when he walked in; Parrish straightened, but Stiles didn’t otherwise react.

“Your Highness,” Parrish greeted. 

“Sir Parrish. Your Majesty.” He executed a shallow bow. “Pardon my intrusion. I was going to the kitchen.” He swept by the table without a backwards glance. 

Something scraped the floor, followed by a short scuffle and Parrish saying, firmly, “Don’t.”

“But-” Stiles cleared his throat. “Alright.” 

Derek went into the kitchen and stopped just beyond the door. At home, it was Evelyn’s domain and she wasn’t keen on visitors. Only Isaac had been allowed in, and that was because he had some skill in the kitchen, once given proper tools and direction. He wasn’t sure if he’d be welcomed here.

“Hey.” The chef looked up and winced. “Your Highness.” He bowed deeply.

“Sorry to barge in,” Derek said quickly. “I was just coming to find something to eat. I didn’t mean to interrupt your work.”

“You haven’t, Your Highness. Did you have a preference? I can make most anything.” He smiled.

“Whatever you want,” he replied. “I’m not picky. What’s your name?” he asked, because he couldn’t remember.

“Philip,” he said promptly. “I’ve been making pork loin for His Majesty, if you’d like me to make enough for both of you.” 

“That’s perfect. Thank you.”

Philip smiled. He pulled a cutting board closer to him and continued dicing potatoes and carrots.

Not wanting to intrude, Derek reluctantly left the room. 

Stiles was alone at his table; he looked pale and tired, holding himself rigidly like he was braced for something.

“How was your day, Your Majesty?” Derek asked, pausing beside the table. 

Stiles’s brows furrowed. He still smelled bitter, but there was an edge of pain there; had he been injured during training? He stared up at him, the flickering lamp reflected in his eyes, and Derek felt his cool expression slip. “Why do you keep leaving?” he asked. His voice was low in an effort to avoid being overheard, but direct enough.

Derek was confused anyway. “I—excuse me?”

“Why do you always _leave_?” he pressed. “After?”

He dropped his gaze. “I understood,” he said, choosing his words delicately to avoid offending, “that you have to keep up appearances. I was fine with that.”

Stiles made a low noise and surged to his feet so quickly that Derek stumbled back a few steps. “I _never_ intended to make you feel like you had to sneak _away_ , Derek. I even-” He laughed quietly, shaking his head at himself. “I even went back when I had a break yesterday, but you…weren’t…there.”

Derek felt his mouth hanging open and snapped it shut. “I—thought you wanted me to go.” 

“No.” He shook his head rapidly. “I thought, when you left while I was showering, maybe I should be more straightforward. Then you left when I said to sleep in my bed, and I thought you just…didn’t want to stay.”

“I thought you wanted me to leave.” 

Stiles nodded, his gaze dipping. “Would you…will you stay? Overnight, I mean?” His voice was oddly shy, like he thought Derek would say _no_.

“Yes, absolutely. I just…” He shook his head again. “I’m just trying to…” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles inhaled. “I don’t want to misunderstand or make you feel forced. But if we continue this, I want you to know that I don’t want you to leave and I don’t just want sex from you.” He hesitated. “Is that…all _you_ want?”

Derek shook his head. “No, I-”

Across the hall, the kitchen door opened. Teresa and Elliot, the night servers, were approaching with their trays.

“I don’t,” he finished as firmly as he could. “That’s not…all I want.”

“We could have Philip make something else, Your Highness,” Elliot said hastily, freezing halfway to the table.

“Oh, no, that’s fine. I wasn’t—I didn’t mean the food.” He felt bright red.

“Thank you,” Stiles said politely as they set the food out on the table. He waited until they’d left to look at Derek. “Let’s talk about this after dinner?”

“Okay.” Derek had never been _less_ hungry, but he sat down anyway. He was pretty sure he’d never eaten anything so fast in his life, and he sort of felt guilty—Philip had cooked a rather elaborate meal—but he was more invested in talking to Stiles. The possibility of getting to be with him and _not_ feeling terrible about it was making it hard to concentrate on his meal.

Instead of the bedroom, Stiles took them to the little sitting room Derek had found. He must’ve noticed his confusion, because he said, “I didn’t want either of us to get distracted.”

“Okay.”

Stiles nodded. He sat on the threadbare sofa, somehow lounging in it just the same as he had his throne. His expression was softer, more open now. “You really thought I wanted you gone?”

“I…it seemed that way.” Derek sat on the far end. “When Lady Martin came to the door, you wanted me to be quiet, you kept the door mostly closed…”

“That was before she knew.”

“She _knows_?”

“She’s my advisor.” Stiles shrugged. “I was protecting your modesty with the door.”

Derek’s mouth opened as he considered that morning from Stiles’s point of view. “We, uh…” His throat felt dried up with emotion. “Um, we have different ideas of modesty, back home.”

“I see.”

“I didn’t think you’d told anyone. I didn’t think you wanted anyone to know.”

Stiles sighed deeply. “I’m sorry for that. I’ve told only my most trusted—Lady Martin, General Reyes, Sir Parrish, and Scott. I can’t…” His hands clenched in the fabric of the couch, then released one finger at a time. “I’m trying to keep you safe,” he said carefully, “by keeping our relationship a secret from general knowledge.” He rolled his neck. “That sounds ridiculous, but I mean it. Since I—since my dad died, people have been trying to find a weakness, any weakness, to use to take the throne from me. If any of them knew about you…”

“You really think they’d try to come after me?” he asked doubtfully. “We’ve only just…”

“Lydia—Lady Martin, that is, and Scott have been my closest friends since we were all children. Before the war, Raken tried to kill both of them. He tried to kidnap them, to use them as leverage.” Stiles twisted his fingers together against the arm of the sofa. “I’ve had brief relationships before, but it’s difficult, with my position.” He shrugged like it didn’t matter, but Derek thought maybe it did.

“Could I—I mean, I haven’t told anyone. But…”

“Not even Sir Boyd?”

He shook his head. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

A small smile curled his mouth. “I see. Thank you for that, but you’re welcome to tell your friend. The only reason I want discretion is to make sure no one targets you.”

He nodded. “Okay.” Derek moved closer, watching Stiles’s face for any warning signs, but he just smiled and leaned in.

They stayed there for a little while, just kissing on the couch and slowly sliding horizontally, until Stiles pulled away and rested his face against Derek’s throat, breathing hard.

“Tomorrow.” He cleared his throat. “Tomorrow, I’ll be busy.” He sat up and looked at Derek. “There are children getting sick, so we’re making sure the doctors have everything they need to treat them, but there’s a scramble to find the right medicine.” He smiled a little. “Lydia insisted that I oversee things like this. Other countries can see the Boy King as a warlord, but our citizens know me as _their_ king.” 

Derek nodded. “My parents are very hands on, too. I’ve never seen anything different in person.” They were still sitting incredibly close, close enough that it was easy for him to lean in and brush their cheeks together. 

Stiles let out a shaky sigh. “You do that a lot,” he murmured. “In bed.” Before Derek could apologize, embarrassed, he continued, “I like it.” He kissed him again. “I’ll make time for you. Maybe around lunch? We can eat back here, alone. I’m afraid that’s all the free time I’ll have.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I like exploring the castle.” 

Stiles smiled. “Okay.”

“And I was wondering if—I want to send a letter to my sister, but…” 

“Oh, of course. They’ll be wondering why they haven’t heard from _you_.” Stiles scratched his cheek. “You can give your letters to Lydia, she’ll make sure they get to your sister.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

Stiles stood up, holding a hand out. 

He took it. He almost made it to the bedroom before he tugged Stiles around to kiss him.

Stiles sighed, bringing up both hands to cup Derek’s face. He swept his thumbs across his cheekbones gently. 

Derek reached behind him and opened the door so they could move to the bed. 

Their clothes were shed as quickly as possible—Derek may have ripped Stiles’s shirt a bit, but he seemed to like it---as they made their way across the room. Derek lifted Stiles by the hips and tossed him on the bed to save time.

He landed with a bounce, looking shocked. He laughed. “I’m not used to being around people stronger than me.”

Derek followed him onto the bed, licking and biting at his chest. “I don’t think I am.” 

“Strong enough to lift and throw me.” He dropped his head back, baring his throat, and Derek couldn’t resist.

He nuzzled in, careful not to leave any marks. He found a scar on the side of his neck and swiped his tongue over it, imagining he could taste the fear and pain it might’ve caused. 

Stiles curled a hand behind Derek’s head, holding him closer as he nipped at his jaw and neck. “Do you—are you…” He sighed and went quiet while Derek sucked at a spot just below his collarbone. “Werewolves don’t scar, do they?”

He sat back a little. “Huh? No. Not much.”

“You always get sidetracked by mine,” he murmured. “Like they fascinate you.”

“They do, a little.” He ducked down to run his lips over one on his abdomen, wide and jagged. 

“’Kay.” Stiles flexed his hands on the sheets, then said, “Okay. Grab the oil.”

Derek laughed at the sudden change in his tone. 

Stiles kicked him lightly. “Keep laughing, see if I let you fuck me.”

“I—oh.” He scrambled for the nightstand, and then it was Stiles laughing. He grabbed the coconut oil and spun around, tackling Stiles to the bed. He bit at his chest, then mouthed at the skin over his ribs.

Stiles let out a gurgling laugh, kicking his legs. “Oh, stop,” he gasped, laughing harder.

Derek backed off, grinning. “Do your soldiers know you’re ticklish? The almighty Boy King, who-” He squawked when Stiles flipped them over and sat on his legs. 

“Are you ticklish?”

“No.”

Stiles skimmed firm fingers over Derek’s ribs. “Liar!” he accused when Derek yelped a helpless laugh.

“Not fair!” He caught Stiles’s wrists and twisted, pinning him to the bed again. He inhaled against the side of his neck, steadying himself while Stiles rocked his hips up against him. “Do you really want me to-”

“Yes,” Stiles groaned. He hooked one leg around Derek’s thighs and pulled, so their hips were perfectly lined up. “Now.”

Derek’s hands flexed, trying to stay focused. “Can’t now. Here.” He grabbed the jar of oil and bit Stiles’s shoulder in the same move. Judging by Stiles’s answering moan, he didn’t mind the biting. 

 

Derek didn’t know when he fell asleep—sometime after Stiles curled around him, most likely—but when he woke up, Stiles was gone. He frowned, trying to figure out what’d woken him. His nose twitched, but whatever scent had caught his attention was too faint to identify, overpowered by the scents of him and Stiles and coconuts. He rolled onto his stomach, deciding it was nothing. He rubbed his face against Stiles’s pillow and yawned.

He sat up, scowling. The scent had wiggled its way into his brain. He still couldn’t quite figure out what it _was_ , but it had all of his instincts hyperaware. He sighed and got up, hunting down his clothes. At least figuring out what the scent was would give him something to do. He glanced at the unmade bed and hesitated, remembering what Stiles had said the night before, about coming back and finding Derek gone. He didn’t want to cause another misunderstanding. They’d only just gotten past the last one. 

He went to the nightstand and opened the top drawer. He was pleased to find paper and a pen readily available. He scrawled a quick note explaining where he’d gone and signed with just his initials.

The scent was much stronger in the hallway leading out of Stiles’s quarters. 

Derek inhaled sharply as he recognized the scent.

There was a werewolf in the castle.

He frowned, because he was sure they had told him there weren’t any werewolves on staff, or in the castle at all. He turned his head; the scent was faint, overlaid by various human staff members and Stiles, of course. He followed it out of Stiles’s hall, toward the dining room.

The scent veered, never quite breaching the dining area. 

Derek huffed and followed it, tracking it until he hit the kitchen. Glowering, he threw the door open and stepped in, but the scent was overpowered by the others inside. Staff members, sweat, soap, cleaning agents, spices and cooking food.

The staff paused to stare at him. “Yes, sir?”

“Is there a werewolf in here?” he asked bluntly. 

They all looked at each other.

“Just you,” someone mumbled, and everyone froze.

Derek took a step back, startled at the sound of about thirty human heartbeats racing with fear. His nose twitched at the overwhelming scent of terror. He frowned. “Okay,” he said slowly, and backed out of the room. He didn’t think he’d been making a face or anything to evoke such a reaction. Why would a simple question freak them out so much?

Thoroughly distracted, he pondered their reaction all the way back to his guest room. Mercury was thrilled to see him, and he felt guilty about leaving her all night. Sure, Boyd would take care of her, but he hadn’t asked for the responsibility; Derek had. He stroked her ears and back for a while, scratching under her muzzle until she was all but melted in a fluffy puddle of ecstasy. 

“You’re easy to please,” he murmured, rubbing her belly one last time before getting up and getting to the food Scott had sent up for her. 

While she ate, he cleaned up and changed into fresh clothes. 

Boyd poked his head in the bathroom. “I thought I heard you talking to Mercury. How was your night?”

He shrugged. “Fine.”

His expression didn’t change. “And how was His Majesty this morning?”

“I don’t know.” 

“Oh, really?”

Derek glanced at him, brows lifting. “Are you insinuating something, Sir Boyd?”

“Yes.”

He laughed and rubbed his hands over his face. “Then I suppose…I don’t know how His Majesty was this morning because I was still asleep.” He chanced a glance at Boyd.

He looked utterly neutral. “I see.” 

“You think I shouldn’t?”

“I think it’s your choice, whatever you do.” He hesitated. “And that you should be careful.” 

“Careful of what?” Derek lifted his hands. “He isn’t going to hurt me.” 

“Are you sure?”

Derek thought about it, to give Boyd some peace of mind. 

Stiles had never done anything threatening toward Derek; hadn’t lost his temper once. When he was upset, he’d chosen to distance himself rather than throw a temper tantrum or to confront Derek. It wasn’t the most mature way to deal with something, but certainly better than retaliating in anger. 

“I’m sure.” 

Boyd nodded. “And you like him? This isn’t some way to ensure our alliance?”

“No!” He grimaced guiltily. “But at first…I thought maybe it was. I wasn’t thinking it myself,” he added. “I just thought, perhaps, that was why…”

Boyd looked offended. “He’s lucky to have you,” he snapped.

Derek laughed. “Alright. Then you see? It’s just because we enjoy each other.” He pulled his shirt on. “I’m going to take Mercury on a walk.”

“I’ll come with.”

“Okay. I’m going to have lunch with Stiles afterward,” he said with a little sigh.

Boyd made a face. “Alright. I’ll be training with General Reyes around then.” 

“Oh, really? How’s that going?”

“Fine.”

Derek lifted a brow, but decided not to press; he’d have time for that later, and Mercury really deserved a good, long run for how he’d ignored her the night before. 

He took her with him to have lunch with Stiles; it was only fair. 

She took to exploring the sitting room as they unwrapped the sandwiches Stiles had had the kitchen staff prepare for them. 

Derek, remembering, brought up their strange behavior when he’d walked in earlier. 

Stiles laughed.

“What is so funny about that?” he demanded. “I’m not a tyrant, I’ve never been cruel-”

He shook his head, still laughing. “It isn’t that. It’s just…you seem like an ice prince to them,” he explained, sandwich forgotten. “Beautiful, unapproachable, cold. They’re intimidated.”

Derek swallowed back his initial reaction— _you think I’m beautiful?_ — and said, “I don’t…”

“They assume you have a temper and attitude to match your looks.” He winked.

He was equally fascinated and horrified by that. “Peter’s corrupted me,” he muttered. 

Mercury whined, pawing at his knee; he dropped his hand on her head to scratch her ears, but she grumbled, jerking her head away. 

“Who’s Peter?”

Derek shushed Mercury when she whined again. “My uncle. He was mostly in charge of our schooling. I’m always worried I picked up his bad mannerisms.” He sighed. “But I’ve apparently just picked up his facial expressions.” 

Stiles laughed.

Mercury whined even louder, pacing beside the small table Stiles had set up for them. She whimpered and barked.

“I fed her,” Derek promised. “We were outside for two hours. I have no idea why she’s acting like this.”

Stiles observed her. “She’s probably hoping we’ll give her some table scraps.” He gestured at him. “Tell me more about your family.” He smiled hopefully.

They talked so long that by the time they remembered their food, Stiles was nearly late for training with his sword-master. 

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to keep you from eating.” 

“It’s fine, I can eat and run.” He leaned over and gave Derek a quick, light parting kiss before picking up his sandwich.

Mercury barked and growled, bolting in front of him as if to block his path. She bared her teeth and flattened her ears. 

“Hey!” Derek snapped, flashing his eyes.

She whined. 

Stiles eyed her speculatively, then shrugged. “Let Scott know if you need help with her.” He stepped around her and left the room.

Derek frowned at her. “What’s wrong with you?”

She crawled toward him on her belly. 

He sighed and got on the floor with her, rubbing her head and back as she climbed into his lap. He shook his head. “Weird little thing.” He reached for his sandwich while she was still sprawled over his legs.

Instantly, she was on her feet again, barking and pacing and growling.

Derek lifted a brow and glanced at his sandwich. He sniffed at it, but could only smell the meat and toppings; admittedly, Cora had always had a better nose than him. He brought it closer to his face.

Mercury barked louder, pacing agitatedly.

Derek stared at her. Had Scott said they were trained to detect poison? His eyes widened.

The strange werewolf’s scent.

He bolted to his feet, dropping the sandwich and running for the door. He’d only made it halfway down the hall when he heard a roar, enraged and inhuman. Something crashed. He ran faster, following the noise. He didn’t know what he expected to find—Stiles, weakened by poison, being attacked by a strange werewolf, maybe—as he flung himself to the armory. He threw the door open just as something shattered. 

He froze.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! <3 Sorry for the cliffhanger, but if you've read anything else of mine, I'm sure you know I'm The Most dramatic. Cliffhangers are seriously like. My favorite things. 
> 
> Thank you, [rozurashii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rozurashii//) for the beta. Sorry I'm so deeply attached to semi-colons and dumb phrasing. // Also made some changes to clarify some things. <3 Thanks for bearing with me!

Stiles’s eyes were filmed over with blood. He roared and slammed his arms down on a counter of knives. His muscles and tendons bulged under his skin, his face was flushed an unnatural red. He bellowed and sent swords crashing to the floor; the corners of his mouth frothed. He snarled and batted aside an armor display. The metal dented on impact.

A hand touched Derek’s arm, making him jump. Lady Martin yanked him from the doorway. “Get General Reyes,” she snapped.

He didn’t stop to ask why; he just ran for the training fields. He dashed past Scott, a group of horses, and the sword master whose name he couldn’t remember. “General,” he gasped as soon as he was within earshot of the fighting ring. “Stiles—King Stilinski—”

She glanced at his face and nodded, leaping out of the ring with animal grace. “Where is he?”

“Armory. Lady Martin sent me.”

She swept by and ran for the castle without a backwards glance.

Derek paused only long enough for Boyd to catch up and followed. They were faster than a human, and caught up as General Reyes was skidding into the armory.

“Fuck,” she muttered.

Stiles roared and snapped a thick wooden staff in half. He ran at General Reyes, thick strings of saliva now swinging from his jaw. 

Derek stepped forward automatically; after all, General Reyes was human.

Boyd blocked him. “You are _not_ going in there,” he snarled.

General Reyes side stepped and ducked the debris Stiles’s crash landing caused. She swore as he twisted and raced toward her. She looked left and snatched up a heavy shield with several spikes along the front. 

As enraged as he was, Stiles seemed to realize that the shield would hurt him, because he was backing up, roaring and snapping his teeth furiously. He wasn’t risking running at it.

She began corralling him toward a door, partially hidden by a flipped table.

Lady Martin darted into the armory before Boyd could catch her. She was surprisingly agile in her floor-length dress, and managed to get through the mess just in time to open the door. 

Derek frowned. He’d thought it was an escape door, but with it open, he could see that it was a shallow nook, just enough space within for General Reyes to shove Stiles inside and slam it shut. She and Lady Martin bolted it, then braced the table against it.

A muffled roar followed, but the door held firm.

Derek stared.

Boyd inhaled sharply. “What was _that_?” he demanded.

“You should go, Your Highness,” General Reyes said through her teeth.

“No. Tell us what’s going on.”

She studied him, scowling. “Fine. But you have to tell me what happened before this.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.” He looked at the mess of the armory and swallowed. “We were having lunch. He was fine a few minutes ago.”

“Clearly _something_ happened. Did you see or hear anything?” she pressed. “Just anything a _little_ out of the ordinary is enough.”

He grimaced. “I…this morning, I smelled an unfamiliar werewolf in the castle. I followed the scent trail to the kitchen, but couldn’t find anyone.” 

Lady Martin snarled, “ _Steele,_ ” at the same time General Reyes did. 

Derek looked around the room, taking in the mess. “Was he bitten?” He glanced at Boyd. “I’ve never seen someone react to the bite like this, but if he was, we can help.”

General Reyes shook her head. “He wasn’t bitten.”

Derek looked at the dented armor on the floor, four feet away. He swallowed.

When Boyd nudged him, he followed willingly. He led them to Derek’s room with vague instructions and gentle nudges. “I’ll be right back, stay in here.” 

Derek didn’t reply, barely looking up as the door closed. He didn’t understand _anything_ about what’d just happened.

Did Stiles usually lose his temper like that? 

All Derek had been able to smell in the armory was adrenaline, blood, sweat…and a sort of smell like rage but not quite. He didn’t trust people who became violent and destructive with their tempers. 

Isaac’s father was like that. He'd broken Isaac's arm when he was sixteen, not realizing he had an audience.

Talia had broken both of his and told him in no uncertain terms that if he laid another hand on _anyone_ in her kingdom, she would do worse.

He'd left Isaac with them.

Derek shuddered and began pacing. He felt like he was missing something, but—he didn’t want anything to do with someone that angry. He could hold his own against most humans physically, but it was their very first meeting where Stiles showed Derek how he could calmly best him in combat. How would it be if he were as angry as he was downstairs?

Derek paused, remembering the blood filming his eyes. _That_ wasn’t normal, even for furious humans. He swallowed against his dry throat. What did that _mean_?

Either Stiles had an apocalyptic level temper or some…secret that made him dangerously violent without notice. 

Derek wasn’t sure he wanted to stay close enough to find out which one it was.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, chapter 10! <3 Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> [rozurashii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rozurashii//) beta'd this chapter and honestly it's so much better than what I had going on at first lol. <3

Derek went to the library. He wasn’t sure what else to do, and the library had always given him answers in the past.

Body had gone to get water and crackers for Derek, and returned with Mercury on his heels. They were all currently in the library, curled up together while Derek tried to force himself to read.

He hadn’t been able to find anything helpful, because he didn’t know where to look.

“You should go get some sleep,” Boyd suggested.

He shook his head. “I need to figure out what’s going on.”

Mercury whined and dropped her head on Derek’s lap.

“I doubt they’d leave information about…that in an easily accessible library. All you’re doing is wasting your time.”

“Yes,” he agreed quietly. “I want to keep my mind occupied.”

Boyd opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. He nodded and picked up a book. 

A half hour later, Derek heard footsteps coming toward the library. He stiffened, glancing at Boyd. 

He got to his feet and stood in front of Derek, one hand on his sword.

There was a quick knock on the door, followed by a three second pause. Stiles opened the door. He didn’t look surprised to see Boyd standing so defensively. He looked tired, his eyes red rimmed, and he had an old, leather bound book clasped in both hands. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior,” he said. His voice was rough and cracked near the end. He hadn’t moved closer, stopping just inside the door. “My excuses probably don’t matter, and I understand if you don’t feel safe around me.” He looked defeated, smaller than he normally did. Young. 

Derek _wanted_ to understand, but…how could he relax when he didn’t know if Stiles would lose it again? He didn’t know what’d set him off and he didn’t _want_ to have to tiptoe around someone he was in a relationship with. There was supposed to be trust there, not fear.

Stiles nodded and smiled wryly. “I get it.” He lifted the book, then set it on the table closest to him. “That…may explain things. I’ve had it translated but I’m not sure how much of it will make sense.” He cleared his throat, then winced, as if it was still raw. “I only found it after my father was killed.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Read it. You may trust the information more from a book than from me.” He smiled again, a hopeless, tilted thing, and left. 

Boyd let out a breath.

Derek dug his fingertips into his leg. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. 

“More information is always good,” Boyd said slowly. “Even just an explanation is better than nothing, so you can make an informed decision.” 

Derek nodded, his gaze still on the door. He brushed his fingers through the fur on Mercury’s neck, soothing himself. He wanted to know, and if there were answers in the book, well, he wanted to read it. He sighed noisily and got up.

Boyd nodded and went to stand guard at the door.

Derek grabbed the book and retreated to his favorite armchair, curling his legs up under himself. He found the cover blank, and the inside neatly handwritten.

_The History_ was written on the first page.

The History _of what?_ He flipped to the next page. 

The anecdotes were interesting. The first few simply described wars that Stilinski ancestors had participated in; it even described some fights in the first person, as if the author had witnessed it. Perhaps they had. 

Derek set the book in his lap and rubbed his eyes. He looked down and noticed a ribbon marking a page. He frowned and flipped it open. 

“ _I’ll ask of the[ úlfheðinn](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Berserker), you tasters of blood,_  
_Those intrepid heroes, how are they treated,_  
_Those who wade out into battle?_  
_Wolf-skinned they are called. In battle_  
_They bear bloody shields._  
_Red with blood are their spears when they come to fight._  
_They form a closed group._  
_The prince in his wisdom puts trust in such men_  
_Who hack through enemy shields._ ”

_Tasters of blood. The úlfheðinn of the Stilinski line taste blood and enter their war trances. This is the way they win wars._

Derek shook his head. None of this made sense.

“What is it?” Boyd asked, venturing over. 

“Um.” He cleared his throat. “This book calls it a war trance. And says they’re called, uh, úlfheðinn. I can’t translate it.” 

Boyd made a face. “I feel like I’ve heard of that before.”

“Me, too, but I don’t know where.” He glanced at the _tasters of blood_ line again. How…? Just _how_? Did Stiles drink someone’s blood or something? Why would he do that?

He thought about Lady Martin and General Reyes’s reactions, blaming Steele. Did someone do that on purpose? But how would they have known to do it?

“Come on.” Boyd prodded his shoulder. “We’re going on a run.”

“What?”

“We’re shifting and running. You’re thinking too hard, you need to clear your head.” 

He stared at him.

“Come on. You know I’m right.”

He sighed. “Alright. Okay.” He inhaled. “Let’s go. Fresh air might help.”

The second floor seemed deserted—even the infirmary was quiet. Derek didn’t _really_ think anyone would stop them, but just in case, they went to the balcony. Boyd jumped down first, so he could spot Derek from below. Derek looked at Mercury. He kissed her muzzle and whispered, “Next time.” He climbed up onto the railing, balancing carefully, rocking forward on the balls of his feet. The fall was short for a werewolf, the wind cool and brisk on his face. He landed with his knees bent.

“You could’ve brought Mercury.”

Derek shrugged. “I didn’t want to freak her out.”

Boyd shrugged. “Okay.” 

They walked side by side past the training fields. There was a small wooded area that would do for the night. Derek picked a tree with plenty of exposed roots and started piling his clothes on them. 

Boyd folded his neatly, tsking disapprovingly at Derek’s haphazard pile.

“Who’s going to see?” he muttered. He folded his shirt anyway, the back of his neck burning like he’d been scolded. 

“I didn’t say anything.” He rolled his shoulders and tilted his head back, looking at the moon.

Derek looked, too. It wasn’t quite full yet, but it was getting close, he could feel it like a tide. The distance from his pack was worse, an ache deep in his bones like he’d ripped something vital out. He had Boyd, but it wasn’t the same as being with the whole pack. 

He shuddered and shifted. He paced, stretching his legs and flexing his paws. 

Boyd butted his head against Derek’s side. His fur was reddish brown, letting him blend easily among trees and the dirt paths. He’d used that advantage plenty to jump out at Derek or Cora unexpectedly. When Derek just stared at him, he snorted and bolted off. 

Derek tore after him, letting his anxiety and stress melt away. They’d be there when he got back. For now, he could smell a rabbit nearby and he’d missed dinner. He shot in front of Boyd, stopping him, and lowered onto his belly. He swiveled his ears.

Boyd crouched beside him. 

He could hear its heartbeat, hammering away as it waited for danger to pass. 

Derek could wait.

Boyd heaved a sigh and stretched out beside him, resting his muzzle on his paws.

Derek stared at a bush about three yards from them, his muscles tense and ready. His mind wanted to wander, but he grounded himself, inhaling the scent of dirt and grass and Boyd beside him, the scent of the rabbit just feet away. He wasn’t different in this form, but it was easier to let his thoughts settle back and let instinct take over. He could do that in his skin, too, but people tended to find it strange. 

They only had to wait a few minutes before the rabbit got either bored or brave. It shot out of its hiding spot.

Derek tore after it, blocking when it tried to dart left into a thicket. 

Boyd pounced while it was changing directions; his teeth closed on its neck. He twisted sharply, before it could make a sound. 

Derek bumped against his side gratefully. 

They were lounging against each other, full and content, when Derek caught a scent that made him go tense. 

Boyd grumbled and pawed at Derek’s head, still cleaning blood from his muzzle. 

Derek tilted his face away, inhaling and trying to catch the scent that’d set his nerves jangling. The woods were lightening, which meant they’d been out here longer than he’d realized, but the pre-dawn light didn’t help. If anything, the gray cast just made it harder to see, made the shadows into shifty, murky things.

He got to his feet, annoyed, and lifted his muzzle to smell the breeze.

It carried the scent of a strange wolf on it—a strange _were_ wolf. 

He was only curious for a moment—someone else to wrestle with!—but then his thoughts caught up to his instincts and surged back. He snarled. 

Boyd jerked to his feet and he smelled it, too. He prowled toward the trees near them, teeth bared. 

Derek looked around, ears swiveling; he heard something heavy moving to the west and took off. 

Boyd snarled, but he didn’t look back.

Derek barreled toward the creature, which surely heard him coming because it paused. He didn’t.

It was bigger than he was, dusty brown and waiting on him with its teeth bared. 

With a growl, Derek threw himself at the wolf. Since he was smaller, he went in low. While the strange wolf was fighting a mouthful of fur, Derek clamped his jaws around the bony part of its left foreleg. He yanked back, closing his eyes against the snap of bone and yelp of pain. His mouth filled with blood.

The teeth at his scruff clamped down, finally digging through his thick fur and hitting flesh. 

He yipped involuntarily and let go, twisting to escape.

The wolf clamped down harder, snarling and shaking him.

Thankfully, he wasn’t _that_ much smaller, so his feet never left the ground. He dug his claws down into the dirt and tried to crouch, but it had too tight a grip on him. 

Boyd _roared_ , sailing over Derek _and_ the stranger. He landed on its back, flattening both of them to the ground.

Derek ripped himself free and turned, clamping his jaws over the other’s muzzle, hard enough to draw blood.

Boyd had shifted to his skin. He got his arms around the wolf’s middle and _heaved_ , hurling him at a tree hard enough to splinter it. He shifted back just as quickly. He urged Derek away, putting space between them and the wolf.

It got to its feet slowly, favoring the leg Derek had broken. It bared its teeth, lowering its head between its shoulders. 

Derek growled and mimicked his pose.

Boyd backed up toward Derek, until his tail brushed against his shoulder. 

Derek snapped his teeth at him, but it was too late: the strange wolf had seen his opportunity and fled. It was heading east this time, deeper into Stilinski land.

Despite Derek’s ire, Boyd corralled him back to where they’d left their clothes. While getting dressed, Derek discovered blood still trickling down the back of his neck. He swiped at it, irritable, and pulled his shirt on. It was after dawn, and people were already getting to work. 

“We should have followed him.”

Boyd scoffed. “Then what? Fought to the death?”

Derek bared his teeth. Over his shoulder, he saw Scott freeze in the process of leading a pack of eager young dogs to a training pen. He lifted his hand wearily.

Scott waved back. He spun on his assistant. “Watch them,” he hissed. “Basic warm up.” He left the young man and rushed toward them. “Hey,” he said breathlessly. “The whole-” He paused, took a breath, and began again. “The palace is worried. With the recent…incident, His Majesty was concerned you may have been kidnapped.”

Derek shook his head. “Just getting some air. Is Sir Parrish inside?”

He nodded. “With General Reyes,” he said grimly.

“Perfect.” Derek swept by. He had a lot to think about still, but the strange werewolf was more pressing. He barely heard Boyd following him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D 
> 
> Thank you, [rozurashii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rozurashii//), for the help. I know I'm a mess. x.x

Reyes was furious; Derek could hear her shouting herself hoarse at a large group of soldiers long before he saw her. Lady Martin was beside her looking coldly infuriated, which was worse than Reyes somehow. 

Beyond them, Parrish was on a warpath, getting names and shifts of every border patrol knight, as well as who’d been guarding the entrances of the palace. He spotted Derek and huffed. “I will return momentarily. No one move,” he snapped, and stalked toward them. “While Your Highness _certainly_ is welcome to go where he pleases, perhaps the night after a security breach is not the wisest time to go wandering.” 

Derek thought he looked exhausted. “I needed some air,” he said evenly. “We may have gotten a look at the intruder.”

Parrish froze. His gaze moved to the blood trickling over Derek’s neck. 

“He headed east. But-”

Parrish shouted, “Reyes!” so loud half her soldiers jumped. “But what?”

Derek scowled. “I still don’t understand what the intruder was trying to accomplish. They didn’t hurt anyone.”

“Someone sabotaged His Majesty,” Parrish said crisply. “To make him seem unstable to his allies.” He lifted his brows. “Where did he go?”

“Just east, minutes ago. He’s in wolf form. I injured him, but he might’ve healed already.” Derek swiped a hand over the back of his neck. “I think he’s an alpha.” 

Parrish nodded and went to tell Reyes. 

Derek glanced at Boyd.

He shrugged. “Makes sense. You don’t trust him now. Imagine if his council saw him lose it that way. Might decide he wasn’t fit for the throne.” He grimaced. “Of course, then he could just kill the council if he wanted.”

“I don’t think…” What did he think? Berserker, sabotaged…either way, Stiles clearly had a volatile temper. Sure, someone had pushed him to lose it like that, but where was the line? Derek shuddered. 

“Let’s go inside. Mercury’s upstairs all alone,” Boyd added when he hesitated.

Derek went.

Stiles was in the throne room, speaking sternly to a man in shackles. He spared Derek and Boyd a glance and, though brief, Derek swore he saw some tension go out of the line of his jaw. 

“Burke, you have your own chickens,” Stiles said. “Why do you keep stealing your neighbor’s?”

Boyd looked like he was choking back laughter, so they hurried from the throne room. 

Mercury was ecstatic when they got upstairs. Someone had fed her, given her water, and walked her, Derek noticed, although he couldn’t tell by scent who. Everyone tended to pat her head or back when they passed her, or when she careened by in pursuit of a dust mote, so she was always covered in scents. 

Boyd scratched her ears. “Now what?” He yawned.

“You can go to sleep. I’m just going to grab some books.”

He looked skeptical.

Derek sighed. “I’m taking them to my room to read, don’t worry.” 

“I wasn’t,” he said, blatantly lying. 

Derek scoffed. 

Boyd scratched Mercury’s ears again and enticed her back to his room.

Derek shook his head and went to the library. He collected a few history books he’d had his eye on already. Considering the information in the book Stiles had given him, he’d have to find things in the Stilinski history to learn more about this úlfheðinn business. 

He took a stack of books back to his room; Stiles knew how much time he spent in the library, and he didn’t feel like dealing with him, or anything more pressing than the books in his arms. He stacked them on the foot of the bed and picked one off the top. It was morning, so he opened the shades for some light and got reading.

There was a pattern he noticed right away—all the books skimmed over how and why the Stilinskis were so… _good_ at combat. They never mentioned war trances, úlfheðinn, or royals with a taste for blood. Derek still had the book Stiles had given him. It read more like a journal than anything, which meant a lot of it was personal rambling and asides about what the author _thought_ , rather than facts. Normally, he’d have found it interesting, but it was annoying when he was actually trying to find the facts.

He gave up around mid-morning. His eyes burned from both the too small print and too little sleep. He stacked all of the books again and carted them back to the library to put away. Sure, he was tired, but he wasn’t a _monster_. He shelved them carefully, despite his exhaustion, because he knew it was someone’s job to keep this room neat, and he wasn’t about to make it harder for no reason. He put the last book away with a feeling of accomplishment. He stiffened when he heard someone outside the library shuffle their feet. He hadn’t closed the door. He turned. 

Stiles stood just outside the room. He looked tired still, like he hadn’t gotten any rest. “If you have questions, I’ll answer them.” His gaze dipped to the side. “If you’d rather not, I’ll leave, that way I’m not…not blocking you in.”

Derek shook his head. “I’ve a lot of questions. I don’t know where to start.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles replied promptly. “I’ll answer all of your questions, so it doesn’t matter which one you start with.”

Derek nodded. He went to a chair and sank into it.

Stiles looked strangely tentative, entering his own library. He moved slowly, and took a seat far from both Derek and the door.

Derek wanted so badly to be able to trust him, watching how careful he was. But he couldn’t stop remembering him in the armory, almost mindless. “Why, um…why were you like that?”

“Someone sabotaged me,” Stiles said cautiously. “I believe they hoped I would attack you and damage our alliance.”

“How, though?”

“They put blood in my food.” Stiles looked down.

“So…how many people are…like you? Is everyone here-?” Derek imagined someone in the kitchen cutting their finger, licking the blood, then destroying the stove. How could a place operate like that? Waiting for staff to explode, like ticking time bombs?

“No. It’s just myself and General Reyes. It…runs in my family.” He rubbed his eyes. “We have always used it as a last resort, and my father—he hated it, so he tried to keep it from me, he tried to make sure I never became…that, but.” He lifted his hands. “But then he died, and there was no one to tell me what the hell was happening. Just that book.”

Derek nodded, looking at his lap. “I just need some time to think,” he said slowly. “That really freaked me out and—and I like you a lot, so I need to think about this.” He gestured between them. 

Stiles’s mouth dropped open. “Oh. I—sorry, I just—I was sure this was over. We were over.” 

“I would like time to think about it.” He clasped his hands together to keep from fidgeting. “What I saw unnerved me, I won’t lie, and people with violent tempers make me uncomfortable and nervous.”

Stiles looked hurt, but he shouldn’t have—he knew what he’d done. He was young, but he was an adult, and to behave like a child in tantrum was appalling, especially with his strength. “Do you have any other questions?”

“No.” 

“Okay. I believe…” He cleared his throat. “I believe I have a meeting with Sir Parrish I’ve forgotten about.” He stood and left quickly.

Derek went to his room and got into bed, trying to forget the look of hurt on Stiles’s face. 

 

He woke to voices outside his bedroom. He looked around, groggy, and sat up. It was night outside; Boyd was speaking to someone in the hallway. He rubbed his face and went still, listening. 

“We’ve managed to keep him from leaving palace grounds, but we can’t catch him, especially now that night’s fallen.” Parrish sounded extremely grudging. “We thought you might have better luck.”

“Of course I’ll help. Let me tell His Highness where I’ll be. I’ll meet you at the tree line.” A pause, then Boyd knocked briskly on Derek’s door before entering.

Mercury bound in, leaping onto Derek and bowling him over. 

“I take it you heard that.”

“Yes.”

“They’re pretty good if they’ve kept him here so long.”

“Yes.”

Boyd hesitated. “You don’t mind my helping them…do you?”

“Of course not.”

“Just checking.”

“I want them caught as much as anyone else. It would be stupid not to.” Derek scratched the top of Mercury’s head. “I could help, too. So you’re not out there alone.”

“It’s one wolf,” he muttered. 

“Yes, but he was sent after the Boy King alone. He must be at least formidable enough for that task.”

Boyd looked troubled. “I’ll howl if I need help.”

Derek nodded. That was a good compromise. He kissed Mercury’s nose and smiled when she rolled onto her back in excitement. 

“There’s food in the kitchen up here. You should eat before you come downstairs.” 

Derek nodded. He wasn’t ready for the dining room just yet. Putting off thinking about Stiles was a lot easier when he didn’t have to see him. 

Boyd went downstairs while Derek dressed. They wanted to catch the intruder as quickly as possible, so it was best if he just went.

Derek shared his dinner with Mercury, though he could tell she’d eaten recently. He picked at his sandwich. He supposed it should be an easy decision: he and Stiles barely knew each other. Stiles had a volcanic temper that could put him in a violent war trance which gave him enough strength to destroy the entire armory in minutes.

As sweet and kind as he was otherwise, Stiles was dangerous. Not just as the Boy King but as a man.

Derek would be stupid to waste this glimpse he’d been given of the side of Stiles he probably would’ve kept hidden. He gave the rest of his food to Mercury. 

Outside, Sir Parrish, Lady Martin, Scott, and Stiles were gathered by the tree line. Boyd and several soldiers, including General Reyes, had gone into the woods. Boyd’s clothes sat in a neat pile next to Scott. 

Mercury whined at Derek’s side.

Scott looked over. “I sent some dogs earlier, but I figured Boyd would be able to track the scent easier.” 

Derek nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. He turned his face toward the trees. There wasn’t any reason to say any more. He was only there in case Boyd needed back up, though he probably wouldn’t. He could take one wolf, just like he’d said.

A howl ripped through the quiet, cut off halfway through by a yelp and snarl.

Derek ran, shedding clothes as he went.

“Derek, don’t! We-” Stiles began.

Parrish stopped him with a sharp, muttered word. 

“I don’t care,” Stiles snapped.

“You should!”

Derek didn’t care what they were arguing about. He shifted mid-stride and followed the sounds of a fight. 

Boyd was fighting _two_ wolves, huge and identical. 

Derek snarled and raced at the one closest to him; he bit down on his hind leg and dragged him away. 

This proved enough of a distraction for Boyd to squirm out from under his opponent and back to his feet. He was fighting again in seconds. That was an upper-hand Hale soldiers had: Laura and Cora trained all of them to fight in both forms, sometimes simultaneously. It wasn’t something other wolves did automatically. It went against instinct to expose their vulnerable skin if they were fighting another wolf, but it proved useful. They could shift under almost any condition and in the blink of an eye. Boyd got his arms around the wolf and threw him, then shifted back and broke his foreleg before he’d righted himself.

Derek focused on corralling his opponent toward the castle. He wasn’t great at combat, but he could keep this guy busy until help arrived. 

It was quicker than he was expecting; something flew past his ear and _thunked_ into the wolf he’d been fighting. He twisted around to see General Reyes throw another knife at Boyd and _his_ opponent—she missed Boyd by a half inch. 

The two wolves began shaking, sliding right out of their fur and into their skin. Wolfsbane stung the air. 

Derek went to Boyd, so furious he was trembling. Once he’d checked that Boyd was okay, he whirled on General Reyes, changing back. “You could have hit us!” 

She gave him an unimpressed look. “I’m a very good shot.”

“You threw knives coated in _poison_ at us and very nearly hit both of us, Boyd especially! You could have just as easily waited until we were out of range!”

“They could’ve killed you in that time-”

“Bullshit, you got overeager to catch them and you wanted to look good. Don’t act like that was about saving us.” He flung his hand at the two seizing werewolves. “That wolfsbane could have gotten into our systems if you cut us just a _little_ , trying to get them.” 

General Reyes narrowed her eyes. “Is that so, Your _Highness_? You think you-”

“General!” Parrish barked out. He, Scott, and Stiles were coming into the trees, laden with Boyd and Derek’s clothes. “That’s enough.”

She looked outraged. 

“Take these two inside, to the cells. Don’t administer the cure until they’re locked inside,” Stiles ordered. 

Reyes nodded, and snapped at her soldiers to pick them up. She followed as they left. 

Scott quickly gave Derek and Boyd their clothes. He grinned. “Haven’t heard anyone yell at Erica like that in a while.”

Derek scowled as he buttoned up his pants. “She should have been more careful.” 

“Yes, you’re right, of course.” Scott stepped aside. 

Mercury plowed into Derek’s hip, nearly knocking him flying.

“I’ll be questioning the intruders momentarily,” Stiles announced. “Until then, I’ll be in Lady Martin’s study.” He turned right back the way they’d come.

Sir Parrish looked at Derek. “I advise that you join us in the dungeon while we question them, Your Highness.” He went after Stiles. 

Derek rubbed Mercury’s ears. Why would he want to know what they asked the intruders? It was pretty easy to guess where they’d come from. 

Boyd looked at Scott. “You smell like metal,” he observed. 

Scott hesitated, then shrugged. “Yeah, I’m sure I do.”

“Why?” Derek asked.

“His Majesty is preparing to head to the front lines, very soon. I have to get all the horses and dogs fitted with armor before then.” He held up his hands. “He hasn’t said _when_ we’re going, just that he wants to be ready.” 

Derek nodded. “Where are the dungeons?”

Scott showed them personally. “We don’t usually use them for anything but the worst crimes and criminals who were caught in the castle. It’s down there.” He gestured at a set of stairs. “I have to get back to work.” His gaze flicked over Derek’s face. He sighed. “Okay. See you later.”

“Thanks.” Derek waited until Scott had left to descend the stair with Boyd at his heels. He could hear Mercury follow them, her nails clicking on the steps. 

The two men were in separate cells, with an empty cell between them, made up of heavy stone. They smelled sick, but were clearly no longer poisoned. They were unconscious, facing the barred doors of their cells. They were also identical.

“Twins,” Boyd muttered. “Why didn’t the other attack us last night? We only knew of the one. It would have been the perfect opportunity-”

“I think the one we fought last night was looking for the one who broke in,” Derek interrupted. He glanced at him. “Sorry. They probably passed each other and met up tonight, couldn’t get away once they were surrounded.” 

Boyd observed them. “Yeah, I guess. I’d probably do something stupid like that for my family.”

Derek grinned weakly. 

Stiles and Parrish looked surprised to find them in the dungeons already, when they arrived. They were each carrying a bucket of water. “Good, you’re here.” Stiles cast a quick smile at Mercury, who was thrilled to see him. 

Parrish tossed his water first; the twin in the cell on the left woke sputtering. 

Stiles did the same to the one on the right. “Good morning,” he said flatly. “Yes, it’s a bit wet down here. Let’s get introductions out of the way. I’m King Mieczysław Stilinski, he’s Sir Jordan Parrish. You answer our questions, we eventually let you go. You don’t, and we leave you down here.”

The twin closest to him sneered.

“Great. We understand each other. King Steele sent you.” It wasn’t a question, though he paused to gauge his reaction. He nodded. “What did he send you for? I want specifics.”

They just stared.

Derek noticed the one on the left looked exhausted, defeated, but he smelled…ready. Like he was waiting for something. The other was the opposite: he was projecting like he was ready to fight, but he was really afraid and sick, wanted to be left alone. He wondered why, and what kind of strategy it was. He kept his eyes on the quiet one.

“I’m going to give you until I leave to decide your own fate. Why did King Steele send you? Why did you linger? What does he want?” Stiles opened his hands in front of himself, like he was passing something over. He glanced over at Derek, eyes bright for a brief moment, before they dimmed. He looked back at the man in the cell. He sighed. “Well, that’s fine. I didn’t want to consider letting you live anyway. Parrish, get ready. We’re leaving as soon as possible. Lady Martin’s in charge.” He looked at the man. “My advisor,” he said conversationally. “She may forget you’re down here. But my guards probably won’t.”

The quiet twin lunged suddenly, nearly getting his claws into Derek’s throat.

Boyd yanked him back at the same time Stiles shot over. 

He grabbed the prisoner’s wrist and pulled sharply toward himself. 

His arm snapped backwards against the bar at the elbow. He snarled and pulled his broken arm back into the cell, hunching over it. He bared his teeth. 

Stiles bared his back.

“Boy King,” the other twin scoffed. “They tell stories like you’re some untouchable beast. We know your weakness, _boy_.”

Stiles sauntered back to his cell, smiling in a truly sadistic way. “Do you?” he asked softly. “Do you really?”

The twin looked slightly unnerved. “Yes. And when we tell King Stee-”

“How will you tell your king my weakness if you never make it home, wolf?” His voice was still so soft the hair on the back of Derek’s neck stood up. He stepped back. In his normal voice, he said, “I want four guards down here at all times, Parrish. Keep them rotating. Thank you.” He jerked his head at Derek and Boyd. 

They followed him up the stairs. 

Once they were on the main floor, Stiles looked at them. “You should begin packing. We’re leaving for the front lines as soon as all of my soldiers are ready.” 

Derek looked at the door they’d just come from. “What if they bribe their guards?” he blurted anxiously.

Stiles’s expression softened slightly. “My father used to say that money pays for labor, and humanity buys loyalty. If you’re generous with both to your staff, you needn’t worry about a double cross. I trust my staff, and Parrish’s judgement.” 

Derek nodded. “Okay.” There wasn’t much else to say. At home, criminals weren’t kept in the royal family’s house. It just wasn’t done. The Stilinski palace was bigger, yes, but not impenetrable.

Boyd and Derek went upstairs with Mercury. They began to pack, leaving out only the essentials. “Do you think we’ll leave tomorrow, or the next morning?” Boyd asked.

“Probably the next morning. I doubt an army the size of Stilinski’s will be ready to leave overnight.” 

Boyd nodded and kept folding his clothes.

Derek started wrestling Mercury on the floor. He’d pack once Boyd was finished. For now, he wanted to play tug with Mercury. It was an uncomplicated task.

He wished his sisters were there. Not for any solid reason, he guessed. Just to have them there. 

 

The next day went by quickly. Derek spent most of it packing and playing with Mercury, avoiding everyone. Not that it mattered. The palace was crawling with activity as everyone prepared for Stiles’s departure. There were several piles of paperwork to be done apparently, since Stiles had no heir and since he was leaving his advisor in charge while he was gone. Derek didn’t really know how that worked. 

Lady Martin was a whirlwind of efficiency through the entire thing. She was also incredibly short-tempered with everyone, including Derek and Stiles. “Making this decision so impulsively was stupid, reckless, and put all of us in jeopardy.” She bared her teeth and shoved a stack of papers at Stiles. “You have to sign all of those in case you die on your rushed, idiotic mission. The bottom two are in case you die on the road to the war,” she added waspishly. “Since you didn’t give us any warning, we haven’t had a chance to scout the route.” She turned on her heel and stalked away. 

Stiles sighed and left with his stack of documents.

Derek, who’d stopped on the stairs when he’d heard them, waited another minute before going down the rest of the way. He’d only come down to grab some food, and to maybe see Scott about getting armor for Mercury. He wasn’t going to stay at the front lines, obviously—he’d be useless there—but they would be traveling over dangerous, exposed territory, and he didn’t want her to get hurt due to his negligence. 

Scott had been busy, too—he had to pack for himself and the animals, making sure every possible need was accounted for—so Derek had trouble hunting him down. It was well after dark when he found him in the training field with a young mare who was uninterested in listening to his commands.

“Hello, Your Highness. Everything okay?”

“Yes, thank you. I just wanted to ask if there was any way to get armor for Mercury. She won’t be in the battle, of course, but she’ll have to travel with us and I’d feel better if she was protected.”

Scott smiled at him. “Of course. I’d already had some sent for her, you won’t have to worry.”

“Oh. Good. Thank you.” 

“Thank you for taking care of her. She likes you.” He shrugged. “Some of them are good work dogs, but a few are just better suited as pets. She needed a home.” 

Derek nodded. “Good.” He didn’t know what else to say. He hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time with Scott, as nice as he was.

“I’ve been friends with Stiles since we were kids,” he said suddenly.

Derek realized he’d never heard Scott call him “Stiles” before. “Oh?” 

“We grew up together. My mom was King John’s head doctor, too, so we’ve always been around.” He shrugged. “When His Majesty was killed, a lot of things changed really suddenly for Stiles, but he never really…” He lifted his hands. “Changed, I guess. At core, he’s still the same.”

“Okay.”

“He’s a good man, Your Highness. A great king, a ferocious warrior, but a good man. I hope you can see that.”

Derek tensed. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I thought I knew that.”

Scott looked sad. “Alright.” He glanced at the mare. “I’d better get her inside.”

Derek took his time going back inside; what was his rush? Boyd was going over travel strategy with General Reyes, so there wouldn’t be anyone looking for him.

He was mistaken.

Lady Martin spotted him heading for the stairs to the second floor. “Your Highness,” she bit out. “A word?”

He paused, but it felt rude to make her walk to him. He met her in the middle of the hallway. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes. I believe there has been a misunderstanding. I have entirely too many responsibilities right now to break everything down piece by piece for prideful, spoiled royals, but I can at least point you in the right direction. I suspect you’re too conflicted to speak directly to His Majesty. You know General Reyes is an úlfheðinn, just as His Majesty is?”

“Yes,” Derek replied stiffly, though he still didn’t understand what that _meant._

Lady Martin’s expression grew icy. “You’ll be sharing a carriage with her for part of your journey. I suggest you ask her what it feels like, to go into the war trance. If you don’t, that’s your choice. However, I believe you’ll feel better hearing it.” She stepped back. “Do be safe, Your Highness. His Majesty is fond of you.” She turned and clipped away. 

Derek stared after her, confused. He’d obviously misunderstood _something._ …Or everyone was concerned they were going to back out of the alliance. He snorted. They had no other options. Violent temper or not, the Boy King was their only hope.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. It was looked over and brushed up by [rozurashii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rozurashii//), who is a lifesaver. <3

Derek put off speaking to General Reyes. There were things to do and setting off was chaotic. He, Boyd, Mercury, and General Reyes were all put in the same carriage, which was toward the center of the large caravan made up of Stilinski soldiers and knights. 

Stiles was at the front. He insisted on leading, and also insisted that General Reyes accompanied Derek; he’d said he couldn’t risk Derek getting attacked on the way to Hale land without his best to protect him.

Derek felt like a coward. What was the point in asking Reyes what it was like? She’d just tell him about losing her temper and then they’d be stuck in a carriage together for four more days.

Their second day on the move, he gave up. “General, Lady Martin-” he cut himself off. 

General Reyes glanced at him, brows lifted. 

He cleared his throat. “I wanted to know…You’re an úlfheðinn, too, right?”

She looked startled. “His Majesty mentioned he gave you some texts on the subject. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Yes, I am. What of it?” Her chin lifted. 

Derek felt Boyd studying him and hated that the back of his neck was burning. “I wanted to know, um…what…it’s like. The book wasn’t very clear. It said Stilinskis go into a war trance-”

“When they taste blood, yeah. Same for me. What’s your question?”

“What does _úlfheðinn_ mean? I don’t understand. And…” He glanced at Boyd, who was expressionless. “Why would you taste blood?”

She stared at him. “You understand that one of those prisoners _put_ blood in His Majesty’s food, right? An úlfheðinn is a kind of berserker, said to be like wolves. If we ingest blood, even a drop, unwillingly or willingly, it triggers our “war trance”. ”

Derek’s whole face turned red. He was starting to see what Lady Martin had been so irritated at him about. “I see. So what is it like? The war trance?” he asked hastily. 

She eyed him for a long, unnerving moment. “It sucks,” she said flatly. “It gets impossible jobs done, but it sucks. You don’t-” She lifted a hand. “First, you taste the iron, then everything goes red and it’s just…loud. And then you come back, and you’re sore everywhere, and exhausted, and everything hurts, and it turns out you killed two hundred fourteen soldiers and had to be covered in a blanket like a bird for two hours just to come back to yourself.” She took a breath. “During the Lawson attack, we couldn’t get His Majesty to calm down. Parrish had to pin him to the ground just to stop him from killing people he shouldn’t.” 

“Pin him down _how?_ ” Derek asked. “How could someone pin _that_ down?”

“A sword. He has a scar.” She rubbed her own shoulder, grimacing as if she could feel the pain herself.

Derek swallowed, remembering the thick scar on Stiles’s shoulder, the one he’d kissed. “So you—you don’t even remember what’s going on? You aren’t yourself at all?”

“No. We can be directed at the enemy—it is a war trance, after all—but it’s like our actual _selves_ take a backseat.” She tipped her head back. “The first time it happened to me, I tried to fight it, so I had a little bit of control. Not much, not…enough. I stopped myself from killing one of my own soldiers, but I still broke her arm. It’s exhausting, fighting it. I was all but useless for a week and a half after that.” She shifted in her seat.

“So if you can fight…like that…why bother training?”

She frowned at him. “Because if we don't prepare our bodies, when we come back to ourselves, we suffer the consequences of not having trained our muscles. The more we train while conscious, the easier it is when we come back.”

Derek exhaled slowly. “So you have no control over yourself once you’re like that. Like if someone puts blood in your food.”

Her gaze was steady. “No.”

He felt awful. Some part of him had guessed it was like that, but most of him had been waiting for the other shoe to drop; Stiles had been too good to be true, there had to be a catch. He also felt stupid; he was good at deciphering obscure texts, but one slightly rambling journal had him utterly lost? Pathetic.

“Derek, you can talk to him when we stop for the night,” Boyd said quietly.

If General Reyes found the lack of title strange, she didn’t show it.

He shook his head. “I should go apologize.”

“And that can wait until we stop,” Boyd insisted.

General Reyes glared at him. “We aren’t stopping just because you made an assumption. We’re on our way to help _your_ kingdom, Your Highness. Or have you forgotten?”

He leveled her with a glare just as fierce. “Of course not. My family could be dead by the time we get there. I’m well aware of how dangerous everything is. We could be attacked on our way there. That’s why I want to apologize now.” He didn't wait—he simply threw open the carriage door and leaped out, shifting before he landed. He heard Boyd and General Reyes shouting, heard Mercury yip with excitement, but he didn’t stop. 

He didn’t want to give himself time to think. He normally wasn’t prone to impulsivity and he would talk himself out of it in a moment. His clothes tangled around his legs briefly, but he managed to dislodge the shreds of them easily enough.

The caravan was long. He, Boyd, and Reyes had truly been in the center, but they weren’t traveling fast, so he outpaced the burdened horses easily on all fours.

Stiles’s carriage was no more ornate than his soldiers’, though it was black rather than brown. He was seated near the door, and therefore spotted Derek first. He frowned, most likely not recognizing him.

Derek shifted back midstride, straightening up and running beside the carriage.

Stiles’s eyes widened. “ _What are you doing?!_ ” He threw open the door.

Derek swallowed nervously.

“Prince Hale,” Sir Parrish said, looking resigned. “Please get in the carriage. You’re naked, and we’re heading to a war.”

“Right.” He climbed into the carriage and looked at Stiles while Parrish took care of the door. “I needed to apologize to you—Your Majesty,” he tacked on hastily.

“What for?” Stiles asked stiffly. “You haven’t done anything.”

“General Reyes told me what it’s like.” His gaze flicked to Parrish. “When you change. I misunderstood, so I wanted to apologize for that, and for making an assumption.”

Stiles relaxed slightly. “Alright. Apology accepted. Now please, get back to your carriage. This is dangerous.”

“What?”

“I’m most likely to be attacked. You’re safer as far from me as possible.” He looked over his shoulder as if someone could possibly be listening in. “We shouldn’t be seen—being alone. Semi-alone. You-”

“Your Majesty,” Parrish cut in. “He’s already here, and running back to his own carriage will just put him at risk again.” He cast Derek a quick look, then took off his coat and held it out.

Derek stared at him blankly for a moment before accepting it and draping it over his lap. He forgot how humans could be about nudity.

“Alright,” Stiles muttered. “I suppose. But it’s still dangerous. I’ll be a prime target.” 

Derek shook his head. “Don’t worry, I have no delusions—I plan to stay away from the battle. I’m not exactly an asset on the field.”

“Good.” 

They couldn’t speak privately with Parrish and soldiers around, even during brief midday breaks, but that was okay. Derek was taking the time to observe Stiles. Now that he was familiar with it, it was interesting to watch Stiles relax in the carriage, and slip back into kingly command as soon as anyone but Parrish or Derek was present. The closer they got to the border, the tenser he became.

When they stopped to make camp, Boyd cut through the crowd of soldiers with the single-minded ease of a predator on the path to kill. Derek braced himself and waited.

“Have you _lost your mind?_ You jump out of a moving carriage while on the road to a _war_ against _your kingdom_? They want to _kill_ you, and you just give them an easy target? All for—what? An apology that _certainly_ could have waited until we stopped?” He sucked in a breath and barreled on. “What were you thinking? How do you think I’d have felt, if you’d been killed on my watch? I wouldn’t be able to go home, or face your family—they’re my pack, too, and I’d have been-”

“They wouldn’t have blamed you-”

“But I _would_ have! We’re friends, but this is my _job_ , Derek, to make sure you get home alive! You can’t just disregard your own safety like that and expect it to be okay just because your mom wouldn’t _exile_ me for letting you get killed!” 

Derek swallowed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He’d never heard Boyd go off like this—he was usually rather level-headed. Then again, so was Derek. “I don’t know what got into me. It seemed more urgent, before. It won’t happen again.”

Boyd nodded. He seemed calmer already, like letting it all out had helped ease his temper. “Thank you. Okay. Good.” Then he rolled his eyes. “Like you don’t know what got into you.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

He looked exasperated. “You had a complete shut down when you thought the guy had a crazy violent temper, you jumped out of a war caravan to go make up with him. What do _you_ think?” 

Derek looked over his shoulder, locating Stiles in a crowd of soldiers, helping them get tents set up—as much as they’d let him, anyway. His heart bumped in his chest. His gaze shot back to Boyd’s, panicked. 

Boyd sighed. “You’re so bad at feelings.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

“Prince Hale,” Sir Parrish called as he approached. “Your tent and His Majesty’s will be in the center of camp, right next to each other, and between my own and General Reyes’s tents.” 

“Ah…thank you.”

Parrish nodded sharply and walked away again.

“Do you think he ever sleeps?” Derek mused.

“No. I believe he drains the energy of those around him so that he never has to close his eyes longer than it takes to blink.”

He snorted. “He’s not so bad.”

Boyd shrugged.

Derek still couldn’t speak to Stiles until after everyone had eaten and gone to bed for the night. He stood outside his tent and tried to figure out how to knock on canvas. He listened to Stiles’s steady heartbeat for a moment more, trying to steel his nerve. 

Stiles pulled the tent flap back. “You can come in.”

He flushed. “I didn’t want to just barge inside.”

“Ah. Well, standing out there not saying anything isn’t going to get you inside, either.” He stepped aside, holding it open.

Derek went in. All of the tents were tall and wide enough to stand and move around in; Derek supposed they had to be, as temporary homes during war time. 

“Is everything alright?” Stiles asked, when he said nothing.

“Y—no. I miss being with you.” He lifted his hands helplessly. “We barely know each other and all I want to do is—make things…make it-” He sighed, frustrated. “I’m sorry for assuming things. I thought you destroyed the armory in a sort of temper tantrum. I didn’t know you weren’t in control and that someone had forced you to become that way.”

Stiles nodded. “I understand what it must have seemed like to you. I, of course, forgive you. But you—you weren’t wrong, Derek. I’m dangerous.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “The chances of me ingesting blood accidentally _are_ small, but what if it happens again? I can’t promise I won’t hurt you, because I might.” 

Derek nodded. “I know, but even when I thought you were just so angry you couldn’t control yourself, I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay away.” He rolled his shoulders. “So I wanted to tell you that if you’re still interested in a—a—” he fumbled, recognizing that he was assuming things again and, having no way to stop it, skidded headlong into it, “a relationship, then so am I.” He lifted his chin and tried desperately to ignore his flushed face.

Stiles’s mouth had fallen open at some point during Derek’s—was it a declaration? It was a _lot_ , whatever it was. He blinked and snapped his mouth shut. “I am, too,” he said at last. “Even if it’s dangerous. I guess that makes me selfish.” He shrugged.

“No, it doesn’t.” Derek stepped closer, hesitant, and was rewarded when Stiles took his face between his palms and kissed him. He closed his eyes and leaned into it, putting his hands on Stiles’s waist. It felt like _I missed you_ and _I missed this_ and maybe, just maybe, _I love you, too_. Derek tried not to dwell on that.

Stiles pulled away first, but swept his thumbs across Derek’s cheekbones in apology. “I have to get to sleep. We leave early.”

He nodded. “Of course.” 

“Derek.” He dropped his hands. “When we arrive, you’re going home, aren’t you?”

“I’ll see my sisters first, but…yes. I’m not much use in battle, and will most likely head home.” He dropped his gaze. “I’d stay if you asked me.”

Stiles let out a mirthless laugh. “I was asking the opposite, actually. I’d much prefer knowing you were safe at home than on the battlefield with me while I was…like that.”

“Oh.” He looked up again. “How did you discover you were a berserker?”

He sighed wearily. “Come sit. We can talk, we have time,” he assured him. He walked over to his sleeping mat, which was really the only place in the tent _to_ sit that wasn’t the bare ground.

Derek sat across from him. “That’s how you won the war when you were sixteen, isn’t it?”

Stiles nodded. “When Ennis Novak tried to kill me, I cut his hand. He grabbed my face to keep me from shouting and his blood got in my mouth.” He shook his head. “I’m told I used my father’s sword for part of the war, but I don’t remember much of it. When I came to, it was a week and a half later. The war was over, I felt like I’d been trampled, and Parrish was keeping the kingdom running for me.”

Derek shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I wish I’d been able to save my dad. That’s my only regret.” He inhaled slowly. He looked pale and drawn, and softer than he allowed himself to look in public. Not nearly as stern. 

“And…General Reyes. How did she…?”

“There’s a blood-sharing ritual.” He wrinkled his nose and instantly looked ten years younger than he normally did, which was about five years older than he actually was. “A lot of this involves blood. I asked her to be my general when we were both eighteen. She asked me to let her help me, the way all Stilinski generals had in the past, so I let her. It isn’t an overly complicated ritual, but we try not to advertise it; it isn’t a gift or party trick. It’s…dangerous.”

“You could hurt people.”

He nodded. “Ourselves included. Sometimes the trance won’t wear off like we want it to—maybe too much adrenaline, or too much blood, we haven’t figured out why.” He moved the collar of his shirt aside, unbuttoning it until he exposed his scarred shoulder. “Parrish had to pin me down once, because it just wouldn’t stop. He dented my armor and went through my shoulder, pinned me to the ground until I exhausted myself and passed out.”

“Was that the Lawson war?”

He nodded, and Derek winced.

He remembered the badly dented armor he’d seen, the child-sized armor that he couldn’t look at for more than a few seconds before the horror took over and he’d left. Stiles had only been seventeen.

“It’s not all bad. I don’t remember most of the violence, or at least, the worst of it. I don’t always fight like that now—just when we need the help. I feel more secure if I fight with full control of myself. But if we get surrounded or the odds are tilting…” He lifted and dropped his right hand.

“Thank you for telling me.”

“I wanted to tell you before, but how does one bring that up? I thought I had more time to explain it.”

“What will you do with the prisoners?”

His face darkened. “We don’t take prisoners.”

Derek nodded. “So you’ll kill them.”

“I have to. They know what sets me off. I can’t have them telling people.” He looked wary and defensive, chin jutted out just like General Reyes when Derek asked her about the trance.

“I wasn’t condemning your decision, just clarifying. They said they knew your weakness, and they clearly had no qualms letting you kill me.” He sighed quietly. “I suppose we should sleep. Boyd will be wondering what’s taking me so long.”

Stiles’s eyes gleamed briefly. “I’m sure he will.” He stood. “Have a good night, Derek.”

_Ask me to stay,_ he thought. “And you as well,” he replied, following him to the tent’s opening.

Stiles looked at him for a long moment. He smiled briefly. “See you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.” He went outside. His own tent was between Reyes and Stiles’s, just like Parrish had said. He felt boxed in. He sighed and went to his tent.

Mercury was fast asleep on the little pile of blankets that’d been set aside for her.

Derek frowned and leaned back outside. He could smell Boyd, even hear his heartbeat, but he couldn’t see him. “Boyd?” He heard his heartbeat skip, then race off. “Where-”

Boyd stumbled out of General Reyes’s tent. “Sorry, we were talking, um—strategy.”

Derek narrowed his eyes. “Really?” His nose twitched, and he grinned. “Strategy?”

“Yes.” Boyd lifted his chin.

He was about to start teasing him—they’d grown up together, they always teased each other about this stuff—when he noticed his guarded expression. He managed to rein himself in. “Okay. Stiles said we have to leave early, so we should get some sleep.” 

“Okay.” He seemed relieved.

Derek would ask him about it later, when they were home. Maybe he’d feel more like talking then.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Hope you guys enjoy! [rozurashii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rozurashii//) has not yet psychically murdered me with semi-colons, so this is readable for you all! :D

Their third night on the road, while everyone was setting up tents and pens for the animals, Derek and Stiles slipped away from the group. It was easy enough—no one expected a prince or a king to set up camp, whether they were willing or not. The moon was full, bright above them as they crept just far enough away to give themselves privacy. 

Derek could feel the moon’s pull and closed his eyes to bask in it, to let his instincts roar to the surface. His senses felt sharper on the full moon, though he knew it was only because he was leading with animal instincts tonight. As soon as there were no soldiers within earshot, Derek crowded Stiles up against a tree and kissed him senseless. 

When he turned his head to catch his breath, Derek simply tilted his head to put his mouth on his throat. He nudged his shirt aside so he could kiss and suck at his shoulder, where no one would see the marks. 

Stiles let out a breathy moan, tilting his chin back to give him more space. His pulse was pounding, his scent so thick and warm with arousal that Derek thought he might not make it, might never move from this spot right here. 

He pressed his knee between Stiles’s legs, grinning fiercely when he felt his hitching gasp. He brought their mouths back together, groaning at the taste of him, and slid his hands under Stiles’s shirts.

He flinched a little, surprised, before relaxing into the touch. “You—you.” He paused to gulp in air. “You said you’d shift on the full moon.”

“Mm, this is better.” He licked Stiles’s jaw. “You already saw me shifted.”

“Yeah, for like two seconds.”

“Liar,” he mumbled. He leaned back slightly. “You’ll probably see a lot of shifted wolves once we get to the battle.”

Stiles met his gaze. “Yes, but I wanted to see _you_.” He waved his hand. “I guess we’ll have time for that _after_ the war.” His eyes gleamed.

Derek kissed him again. He liked that, the idea that they would have time together after the war was over. It suggested permanence, and Derek was very permanently attached to Stiles already.

Both of their shirts were off when he heard it: the faintest breath, a quiet inhalation that didn’t match up with their panting and gasping. He froze, leaning away when Stiles tried to kiss him again.

He turned his head, tracking, but could only hear faint animal sounds, night insects, the bustle of camp. Then…

A skipping heartbeat, anticipation and fear of being discovered putting it out of tune from the others. 

Derek snapped his head forward so fast, he and Stiles nearly collided. He put their mouths together lightly. “We’re being watched. Someone’s here.”

“How many?” He didn’t sound surprised. 

“At least two. Probably four.” 

“Okay.” He pecked Derek’s mouth and twisted suddenly, putting him up against the tree. He turned his head under the pretense of rubbing his cheek against Derek’s. 

Derek held his breath. Whoever was in the woods was a professional; they were extremely hard to detect, even as close as they were. He inhaled as quietly as he could.

Stiles jerked them to the side. 

Bark flew from the tree they’d been leaning against. 

Stiles shoved Derek down and spun in the same move. He yanked a knife out of his belt. “Come on,” he called out. “Let’s do this face to face.” 

Men emerged from the shadows. “Boy,” the one at the front greeted, holding a sword at his side. They spread out, circling him with their swords raised; there were four of them, all weathered soldiers, all ready to kill.

“You can call me king,” Stiles said, and kicked the one in front of him in the chest. He turned to the next, ducking his sword. He stabbed his knife into the soldier’s leg and uppercut him hard, sending him stumbling.

The other two tried to get behind him, but he didn’t seem worried about it. He locked his arms around one of them and squeezed until his tendons started bulging.

The soldier couldn’t draw in a breath with Stiles’s arms banded across his chest. He kicked his legs wildly, but couldn’t quite touch down.

Stiles squeezed harder; Derek heard something creak. Quick as a snake, Stiles released him, shifted his grip, and snapped his neck.

Derek jerked his gaze away, nauseated. It was because of this that he noticed a fifth soldier, wearing a Calavera insignia on her arm, notching an arrow. He didn’t think—he leaped at her.

They collided hard; the tip of her arrow pierced his shoulder, but he didn’t have time to care.

She reared forward, slamming her forehead into his face. 

He yelped and grabbed his bleeding nose.

She squirmed out from under him.

Gasping, he reached out blindly; his claws caught in the fabric of her pants. He clenched his hand and dragged her back, dodging when she kicked her other leg at him. 

She swore at him and clawed his face, but he simply flipped her over, holding her wrists behind her back. 

“We know your weakness, Boy King. You’ve been bedding the Wolf Prince,” one of the Calaveras taunted.

Derek glanced up, startled, and grimaced as the arrow in his shoulder dug deeper. 

“He’s been poisoned while you-” a gurgle cut the man off, followed by the wet crunch of a windpipe being crushed.

Derek glanced at his shoulder. “I didn’t feel the poison,” he said, mostly out of surprise. But there it was, spreading around the arrow still in his shoulder, black lines creeping toward his heart. 

The soldier he was holding laughed. “Do you like it?” she teased. “We bred that strain of bane ourselves.”

Derek squeezed her wrists. “Where’s the rest of it?”

She wiggled her hips under him, rolling them up against his. “Search me and find out, big boy.”

He curled his lip in disgust, but before he could respond, Stiles was there.

“You okay?”

Derek nodded. “She’s got the cure for the poison somewhere, I can smell it.”

Stiles nodded, too. “Let her go.” 

He glanced at him uncertainly. 

His face was spattered with blood, but serious, set, his eyes blank. 

Derek let her go. 

The soldier was up in an instant.

In the next instant, Stiles had reached out and broken her neck.

She collapsed straight down.

Derek stared. “That’s not easy for a human to do.” He didn't know what else to say.

He flexed his wrists. “No, it isn’t.” He looked at Derek again. “What can we do about the poison?” He sounded remarkably calm, but his face was white, the skin around his eyes tense.

“It’s wolfsbane. We have to burn it and use the ashes to flush the poison out.”

Stiles nodded and ducked down to search the soldier’s pockets.

Derek broke off the end of the arrow, grimacing in pain. It hadn’t gone all the way through; he knew protocol was to push it through, but since he would heal once the wolfsbane was dealt with, he yanked it free. He groaned, gritting his teeth against a shout of pain.

Stiles stood with a sachet in hand. “This is all she had. She must’ve stashed her quiver somewhere.” 

“Do you want me to find it?” Derek asked through his teeth.

Stiles shook his head. “You said we need to burn this?”

He nodded.

Stiles got to work; the soldier had flint and a small knife blade in the sachet with the wolfsbane flowers.

Derek wondered if she’d planned on taking someone alive. But why? 

Stiles didn't seem concerned with that. He simply sparked a flame onto the flowers, watching as they burned to ash. “Now what?”

“I can do it.” When Stiles merely lifted his brows, he sighed. “You have to put it in the wound.”

He nodded and approached with the ash.

Derek braced himself, sucking in a breath.

When the ash pressed into the wound, he bit back _hard_ on a roar of pain, squeezing his eyes shut. It felt like someone had shoved a red hot coal into the wound. Bile rose in his throat. He whimpered.

Stiles was talking to him in a low, soothing voice, pressing a kiss to his cheek and temple and jaw.

The pain ebbed. Derek exhaled and let Stiles hold onto him for another moment, getting his bearings. “Ow,” he said at last.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles stepped back, looking upset.

Derek looked at his shoulder; the wound was already healing. “I wonder what the point of that poison was. I didn’t feel it and it wasn’t even weakening me.” 

“Maybe that was the point. If you aren’t getting weaker, you might not think to check if you’ve been poisoned. Might not notice at all, then it reaches your heart and you die.” He was staring at the soldier a few feet from them. 

Derek swallowed. “Sorry I wasn’t much help.”

He looked up sharply. “I didn’t need help.”

“They might not have attacked at all if I’d noticed them earlier.”

“Yes, but they saw us together. This way they can’t report to anyone.” 

He nodded. “Okay.” He blinked. “You’re injured.”

Stiles frowned. “Am I?” He had cuts on his arms, a split lip, and a bruised cheekbone; all told, the injuries were minor, considering he was outnumbered four to one. “I guess that happens when people have swords,” he said with a shrug. He wiped at one of the cuts on his arm.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said quickly, offering his shirt to mop up some of the blood. “I should’ve helped.”

Stiles shook his head. “Come on. If we’re gone too long, they’ll get worried.” He bent over the body of the soldier.

“What’re you doing?”

Something ripped. He stood with the Calavera insignia, frowning.

“What?”

He glanced at him, rubbing his thumb over the symbol thoughtfully. “Nothing,” he murmured. “I don’t think. Let’s get back. Scott will be preparing his lecture about time management already.”

“And you need bandages.”

He snorted. “Sure.”

Scott pounced as soon as they were within sight. “What took you…” He noticed Stiles’s face. “I _told_ you not to go wandering, I told you that you could get ambushed.” He threw his hands up and stalked away.

Derek glanced at Stiles uncertainly, but he didn’t seem concerned.

“He’ll find me in my tent,” he said.

“I see.”

Stiles nodded sharply and started walking.

Derek followed, since his own tent would most likely be near Stiles’s anyway. He’d have to find Boyd, let him know he was back. He looked around, frowning. Where was Boyd, anyway? Normally he’d have been the first to spot them returning. When he tried to go to his own tent, Stiles stopped him.

“You can go to bed if you want,” he amended quickly, flushing. “But if you’d like, you can also…join me.”

Derek swallowed a smile and followed him into his tent.

Scott joined them a moment later, carrying a black bag. “I’m mad at you,” he sniffed. “I told you that it was dangerous, I told you to take someone with you—even some of the dogs, but no, you had to go off on your own.” 

Derek quietly went to sit by the entrance, awkwardly trying to avoid Scott’s wrath.

Thankfully, he was focused on tearing Stiles a new one instead.

Outside, something snuffled hopefully. 

Derek flipped the flap open.

Mercury plowed into him, scrambling frantically into his lap. 

He stroked his hands down her back and over her ears, calming her. He pressed a kiss to her muzzle, smiling at her enthusiasm. 

“There.” Scott sat back. “You’re a reckless idiot, but you’ll live. Somehow.” He glanced back at Derek like he was considering lecturing him, too. He shook his head with a sigh. “Be careful,” he muttered. He packed up his gauze and bandages and left.

Stiles sighed and scratched at a bandage. “I guess he had a point. I endangered you.”

Derek shrugged. “I’m okay.”

“You got poisoned.”

“Not very badly.”

Mercury squirmed out of Derek’s lap and ran to greet Stiles with her usual enthusiasm; Derek thought it must’ve been nice, being able to go to him without knowing he was a king or that he could kill people barehanded. 

So could Derek, if he tried, and he was royalty, too, but…it was different. Perspective, he guessed. 

Mercury got bored quickly enough; she chose a spot to curl up and huffed noisily.

Stiles snorted.

“She’s already spoiled.” Derek smiled, Stiles smiled back, and they were moving. They met in the middle of the tent, kissing and holding each other. Derek skimmed careful fingers over each of Stiles’s bandaged injuries.

“I should—we should make sure you’re—” Stiles cut off a quiet groan as Derek nuzzled his throat. “Dangerous,” he murmured, but Derek didn’t care. He sighed as if he’d heard the thought and brought his hands up to Derek’s, coaxing him back toward his sleeping mat. 

Derek peeled his shirts off reverently, pressing his mouth to the fresh bruises on his torso. _I love you,_ he thought, grazing his lips over the dip of his hip. _Don’t be so reckless,_ he thought. He said, “Take your pants off.” 

 

They laid together shivering for a few minutes afterward. Derek glanced at his pants by the entrance of the tent, then his shirt by Mercury, and the rest of his clothes tossed haphazardly over Stiles’s bag to their left. He sighed.

Stiles leaned up on his elbow, examining his face. “You’re thinking too hard.”

He smiled. “No such thing.”

He snorted and reached out, trailing a single fingertip along his temple and the curve of his cheekbone, down his jaw, then back up. “You have to-” he stopped himself and started again. “Would you promise me you’ll go home, where it’s safe, as soon as possible?”

Derek blinked, surprised. “Of course. I’m not a fighter,” he said, mostly to reassure him again. It was obvious he wasn’t a warrior. He remembered his hesitation during the ambush, how until he’d noticed the archer, he’d just been sitting there. He had no place on the battlefield.

Stiles hadn’t hesitated, not even for a second.

Derek swallowed. His family always assured him that a killing instinct—or lack of—didn’t make or break a werewolf. He couldn’t help worrying about it, though. Would he have let Stiles be injured or killed just to keep from killing a stranger who’d been trying to kill them?

“Good,” Stiles said, oblivious to his internal strife. He kissed him lightly. “Now stop thinking so loud. Scott will tell Sir Boyd where you are.” He curled into him, resting his cheek against his chest and closing his eyes. He reached out blindly to pull a blanket over them and snuggled closer.

Derek fell asleep soon after Stiles’s heartbeat slowed.


	14. Chapter 14

By morning the next day, they’d made it to Hale land; by afternoon, they’d reached the encampment on the border that touched Ito and Calavera land. Derek was out of his carriage and running before either of his sisters had even noticed him. 

Cora got to him first, throwing her arms around his neck so tight he almost choked. She immediately pushed her nose up under his jaw and sniffed noisily. She leaned back, eyes gleaming. “Ooh, someone got some.”

“Cora,” he scolded. “That’s terribly uncouth.” 

She pinched his ribs. “No one can hear us.” She let go of him and took a step back so she could see him. “You guys made good time. You have to tell me _everything_. Does he display the skeletons of his enemies? Were all of his staff members used to test food for poison? What was his armory like?”

“One question at a time! Actually, no questions now. Questions later.” He knew things were looking bad, but he was so happy to see his sisters that he couldn’t help smiling.

Laura approached at a more dignified pace, still wearing some of her armor. “You were missed, Derek.” She lifted something out of her back pocket. “Where is His Majesty? I’m…eager…to meet with him.” She tipped the paper so Derek could see it: his letter, sent a little while ago…full of angst about his relationship problems with Stiles. Lady Martin’s couriers were unfortunately prompt, apparently.

He gulped. “Oh. He’s eager to get started with planning, too. He’s…” He turned to locate Stiles’s carriage. “Almost here.”

Laura hummed. “Good.”

“Just tell me about his armory,” Cora pleaded. “How big was it? Did it take up most of his palace?”

“Big enough. Lots of types of weapons, old and new armor sets. Boyd said it was like a war shrine.”

“Cool. Did anything have blood in it?”

“Some of the old armor did.”

She looked thrilled. “Wow. You have to tell me what he’s like.”

“Later,” Laura snapped. “Derek, you’ll do introductions. Where’ve you left Boyd?”

“Uh…the carriage.” He winced.

Cora snickered.

They were all standing side-by-side when Stiles’s carriage stopped. He, Sir Parrish, and General Reyes all walked toward them together. Stiles looked particularly impressive; he’d put on some sort of formal jacket during the ride, most likely at Sir Parrish’s insistence. His shoulders pulled the jacket tight enough that his easy strength was clear, but not so tight that he looked unkempt. He was holding himself tall and sure, one hand resting almost casually on the sword at his hip. They stopped mere feet from Derek and his sisters.

“King Stilinski, these are my sisters, the Crown Princess Laura Hale, and Princess Cora Hale. This is General Reyes and Sir Parrish,” Derek added with a quick bow.

Stiles lifted one brow but didn’t comment on his formality. “A pleasure, princesses, although the circumstances are rather bleak.” 

“Indeed.” Laura glanced behind him at the convoy of soldiers. “Your help is appreciated.” 

“I’m glad to assist. Before we begin talking strategy, I believe General Reyes and I should get our soldiers in place, shore up the front lines to ensure none of the battle spills closer to civilians.”

Laura’s scent and heartbeat suggested she was surprised, but her face didn’t show it. “Yes, that would be preferable, Your Majesty.”

He nodded. “Sir Parrish, if you could organize the camp for me?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Parrish bowed and went to the horses, which were quickly being unloaded.

Stiles and General Reyes went to where the main force had begun to gather, ready to continue their march .

Boyd approached with Mercury, looking miffed. “You have no sense of self-preservation. I’m going to speak to your mother about reassigning me.”

Cora lunged at him, squeezing him tight and giving him a noogie at the same time. “No, he doesn’t, and no, you won’t. We missed you both!”

Mercury tried to join the hug, pawing at Cora’s arm until she had no choice but to look down at her. 

“Who is _this?_ ” Her voice rose with delight.

“Derek’s new pet,” Boyd grumbled.

“Her name is Mercury.”

Cora snickered and scrubbed at her ears. “Oh, I bet Derek spoils you rotten.”

“Hey.”

Laura cleared her throat. “Boyd, I need you to consult with your escorts home to prepare a security plan.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Laura snorted, making him grin. “You’ve been with the Boy King too long, I see. Come on.” 

Cora kept Mercury with her, patting her side and play-wrestling as much as she could while preserving just a little bit of her dignity. 

Derek glanced toward where Stiles had gone, and kept looking. 

He was giving orders in a clear, carrying voice, letting Reyes direct the groups of soldiers as he went. They were clearly separated into groups of skills—marksmen, swordsmen, patrol and guardsmen—but since they didn’t have separate uniforms, Derek couldn’t tell which were which. He guessed that was part of the point.

Watching Stiles command and arrange his army was…attractive. He seemed perfectly in control, fierce and calm, ready for battle.

Derek didn’t realize how long he’d been watching until Cora started snickering.

“You’d better close your mouth before your tongue dries out and falls off,” she laughed. 

He glowered at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.” She elbowed him, grinning. “Oh, man, Mom’s gonna _flip._ You have a crush on the…” Her mouth dropped open as she put together the scent she’d gotten from him and the way he’d been watching Stiles. “Oh my god, are you _sleep_ -”

“Cora!” he snapped. “Not here!”

She nodded, mouthing, “Sorry!” She glanced around and whispered, “ _The Boy King?_ Really? What’s it like? Like was he-”

“I’m not going to talk to you about that,” he hissed.

“Hmm.”

Derek jumped, shocked to find Laura standing behind them. 

“Before you go home, we’ll all be having a meal together.”

“Laura-”

“It’s Hale tradition, after all,” she cut in. “To share a meal before the war, and His Majesty is invited, as our ally.”

He glanced toward Stiles. “Alright,” he muttered. Even if he’d declined, it _was_ tradition, and it’d be extremely rude not to attend if Cora and Laura did. “Fine.”

Derek and Boyd helped assemble a makeshift table while Cora hunted down their main course and some non-combative staff members prepared a fire to cook on. Cora managed to take down a six-point buck and there were plenty of root vegetables to stew along with it.

 

Stiles left General Reyes in charge when dinner was ready and joined them with a polite smile. “Thank you for the invitation, Your Highness,” he said.

“Of course. It’s tradition,” Laura said pointedly. She conceded the head of the table to Stiles, mostly because she had to, and sat to his right while Cora sat beside her.

Derek sat between Stiles and Boyd, across from Laura. He was stiff, waiting for Laura to ask Stiles about their relationship, but Stiles didn’t give her a chance. 

“I have a strategy plan I’d like to discuss with you. We need to organize the Ito army to their strengths, as well as yours.” 

“Yes, we’ve been focusing on keeping the Argent and Calavera armies from advancing, which leaves little time for any advanced tactics.”

“Logical. With my added numbers, we have enough space to breathe and think. Argent likes to wear out her opponents before going for the kill, so now we make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Stiles and Laura continued to strategize while they ate; Cora peppered Boyd and Derek with questions about the Boy King’s palace. She seemed to think of him as a completely separate entity from the man discussing war tactics with her sister. In any case, she lost interest in the topic after a while, and dedicated her full attention to her meal and sneaking Mercury food.

“You okay?” Derek asked quietly. 

Boyd flinched a little. “Pardon?”

“You’re acting strange.” He tipped his head slightly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Boyd swallowed, nerves tinting his scent. “Not—not yet.”

“Okay.” He wanted to pry—he’d known Boyd for years, and they’d never bothered with secrets before—but part of having such an insight into people’s emotions was knowing when to abide by their boundaries. 

Cora looked up from feeding Mercury bits of meat. “Derek, are you leaving in the morning?”

“Yes. It’s safer to wait until full daylight to travel.”

She nodded. “Good, that’s probably smartest. Peter is going to have so many questions.”

“ _You_ had so many questions.”

“Yes, but he’ll want to make sure you didn’t do anything to embarrass him.” Her gaze darted over to Stiles. She grinned. “Not sure what he’ll think of that.”

Derek flushed. “I didn’t plan on advertising it,” he mumbled.

“He’s gonna _know_. Mom probably won’t approve.”

He flinched. “Why do you say that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. With the way Laura and I are, she was hoping you’d settle down with someone like—a librarian, or a teacher or something, I don’t know. She figured we’d be going after the dangerous ones.”

Derek gulped. “Just because we…it’s not like it’s…forever.” He wanted it to be. He wanted tomorrow and next month and five years from now. 

Cora snorted. “Please, brother, you’re hooked like a fish on the line.”

Laura’s head turned sharply toward them. She looked incredibly disapproving.

Derek dropped his gaze, but couldn’t help peeking over at Stiles. 

His expression was blank, faintly stern; he didn’t seem to have heard Cora. “I don’t sit on the sidelines, Princess Hale,” he said when Laura looked back at him. “I fight with my soldiers. Tonight, after our meal, I’m going to join them.”

“As am I.”

They began talking strategy again.

Derek watched, after the meal, as everyone prepared to rejoin the battle. He could hear the clank and clatter of swords clashing, the shouting and scent of blood and sweat. He watched Cora get into her armor and grimaced. He had no war skills, no experience on the battlefield, but he was terrified, watching his younger sister prepare to enter the war.

“Stop looking so worried, you’re throwing me off my game.” She adjusted her breastplate and sighed. “You’re going home in the morning. You aren’t going to suddenly decide to stay to watch out for your boyfriend, are you?”

“No, I’m definitely going home. I…” He swallowed. “I don’t think I can watch. I want to know you guys are safe, but I can’t watch it happen if…”

“If.” Cora nodded. “Right.” She picked up and belted her sword. 

Across from them at another tent, Laura was speaking to a soldier, already in her full war armor. Her jaw was tense, like she didn’t like whatever she was hearing.

Further away, closer to the fighting, Stiles, General Reyes, and Parrish were putting their own armor on. 

Derek was dismayed to discover that while what the armor meant—possible death, war, blood, defeat—was horrific, he also found Stiles incredibly attractive wearing it. He looked dangerous, and in control, and Derek really, really liked it.

They waited for Laura to approach. Reyes eyed her like she didn’t trust her; Laura seemed to notice, and drew herself up rigidly, insulted.

Derek looked away.

“Don’t wait up,” Cora said brightly. “Just—if I don’t see you tomorrow, be safe.” She hugged him hard, her armor digging into his chest and arms. She kissed his cheek and ran to join Laura, Reyes, and Stiles. 

Parrish called out for Scott, who brought them their horses. He looked grim, but the horses were well-tended, fully outfitted in modified armor. 

Derek couldn’t seem to swallow, watching them mount the horses.

“You okay?” Boyd asked.

“Uh…yeah. Kinda.” He couldn’t take his eyes off Stiles as he shook Scott’s hand and told him he’d see him later.

“Hopefully,” Scott said, just loud enough that Derek could make it out. He managed a wan smile. “Be careful, Stiles.”

“You, too. Get the dogs ready for tonight.”

“Already on it.” He stepped back and nodded.

Stiles and Reyes led the group; Parrish followed behind them. 

Derek’s heart felt like it was in his throat. Any one of them could die. He’d told his sisters he loved them, of course, but…

But he hadn’t told Stiles. It was too presumptuous, too soon, but Stiles could die and never know.

He had to tell him.

His heart started racing. Derek managed a single step forward.

Boyd caught his arm. “Whatever thing you’re thinking, stop thinking it.”

“I have to tell him. It’s important.”

He stepped in front of him, his gaze hard. “Then why did you wait until _now_?” 

“Because—I thought I could tell him later but-” he swallowed thickly. “But now I can see and smell and hear the war and it’s _real_ now and he could die and never know-”

Boyd shook his head. “You fell in love with the Boy King.” He looked sad, like the very idea was so pathetic he couldn’t be angry. “You knew how dangerous his life was before you even met him.”

“Yes, but-”

“So you knew that he could die at any time. He could be assassinated, he could die in battle—which for him happens a lot.”

“That’s why I have to tell him now!”

Boyd blocked him again, legs braced and eyes flashing. “No! I’m not letting you any closer than this to the battle. You already jumped out of a moving carriage _twice._ You have to stop being so reckless.” 

“I’m—I-” He stopped. “Boyd, I have to tell him. I’ll be quick. I’ll come right back. If you let me go now, I can catch him before he even makes it-”

“No. You aren’t supposed to even be this close. Come on. We should get back to our tent. We’re leaving at sunrise.” Boyd set his jaw.

“Alright.” Derek bolted. He wasn’t proud of it—his sisters were usually the ones who pulled reckless stunts—but if there was a chance Stiles might die, he wanted to tell him how he felt. 

“Derek! Damn it!” Boyd chased him, but Derek had always been faster, even on two legs. 

Stiles and the others didn’t notice his pursuit; they were entirely focused on their destination, which was smart. 

Derek could hear them before he reached them.

“This _is_ both armies, right?” Stiles asked Laura slowly. “Argent and Calavera?”

“Well, yes.” Laura paused. “I believe so. We’ve found bodies with both insignias on them. But recently…”

“Recently?”

She swore softly. “Lately, it’s been only Argents. I didn’t realize…”

“General,” Stiles snapped. “Move a unit behind us!” he barked. 

Reyes snapped her reins and veered off to a group of Stilinski soldiers, calling out orders.

“What? What’s going on?” Laura demanded. 

“Calavera is going to try to box us in. We have to go back to base camp, they could already be there. Parrish, hold the line,” he ordered, and turned his horse around. 

Derek skidded to a stop, backpedaling, but Stiles had noticed him. 

He looked inexplicably relieved. “Get on.” He held his arm out as he brought his horse up next to him. “We need to move.” 

Derek accepted his help up.

Cora let Boyd onto her horse. 

“How do you know this?” Laura demanded. “You can’t move half our forces just on a hunch!”

“Argent is straightforward; she uses brute strength, and she’s trying to tire your resources. Calavera knew I was coming to help you.” Stiles swore and pointed. “Now we’re blocked in.”

Derek followed where he was pointing and felt his heart sink. 

In the distance, past their base camp, there was a crowd of soldiers emerging from the trees. 

“Oh, god,” Cora croaked. “How long have they been there? Laura, Mom and Dad—they could’ve made it to the mansion already—they could be dead.” 

“If Mom was dead, we’d know,” Laura responded. 

Derek pressed his face into the back of Stiles’s neck, then stiffened. 

But Stiles didn’t move away or shrug him off. “They likely haven’t been there long—there’s too many of them to hide their presence for more than a day at most. Besides that, they’ll want to defeat the Queen’s army first, before they kill her. They know how loyal you are.”

Cora gasped softly. “They waited.” She looked over at Derek with a horrified expression. “They were waiting for you to get here. All three of Mom’s possible heirs are here, and now you can’t go home.”

“Fuck.” Laura inhaled. “We’ll leave Derek and Boyd by the tents, and hold the line until General Reyes gets more soldiers here. That’s all we can do.”

“We can help,” Derek tried.

Laura shook her head. “We have to keep you alive, Derek. Just in case.”

“No! Don’t _say_ that, you aren’t—you can’t just make me wait for you all to _die_ -”

“Derek,” Cora said calmly. “You’re the least experienced fighter. I love you, but you suck with swords.” 

“You’ll wait,” Laura declared. 

The camp smelled of smoke and panic. Derek held onto Stiles’s hand as he dismounted. “I wanted to tell you-”

Stiles pulled him onto his toes and leaned down, kissing him hard. “I will see you later. You can tell me then.” 

Derek frowned at him, but he didn’t have a chance to argue; Stiles was already leaving. He turned away as they left. When Boyd tried to speak to him, he went into his tent. He yelped and jerked back when he found someone in there already. 

“So sorry, Your Highness,” the boy said, straightening up. “His Majesty had me tend to Mercury for you.” 

Derek squinted at him. “Mason, right?”

He nodded. 

“Why—why would he bring you along?”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“You aren’t a soldier. It isn’t safe, why would he bring you along?”

Mason smiled. “To help out, Your Highness. She’s been fed and brushed. Do you need anything else?”

“No…”

He bowed and stepped outside.

Mercury bounced over to Derek, thrilled to see him. 

He went to the sleeping mat and sat down. He could hear the war sounds still, and hated it.

Boyd came in a few minutes later. “You alright?”

“No.” He pulled his fingers gently through Mercury’s fur. “Has General Reyes arrived with the soldiers yet?”

“No. They’re getting close, though.” He looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry for trying to stop you. Talia ordered-”

“You to keep me out of danger. I know. I’m not mad.” He glanced to the side as if he could see the fight through the canvas wall of his tent. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I think I’m going to sleep.” What was the point in waiting up? He was pathetically useless here.

“Okay. I’ll keep watch,” Boyd said quickly. “You get some rest.”

Derek laid down, snorting when Mercury nosed her way under his arm and swiped her tongue over his cheek before settling down. He bumped his nose against hers as he got comfortable. He couldn’t seem to close his eyes, staring straight ahead.

Boyd poked his head in hours later, then leaned back out. “I think he’s awake. Your Majesty,” he said slowly, “is General Reyes—was she-”

“She stays close to her soldiers during wartime.” Stiles’s voice was hoarse, raspy from smoke or shouting orders. “She’s doing well. Hasn’t sustained any injuries.” 

“Thank you,” Boyd murmured.

Derek sat up, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t slept, had stared at the same spot the whole time, but he still felt lethargic and slow. His eyes burned when he blinked.

Mercury grumbled and rolled over, smacking his arm with one of her paws. 

Stiles stepped inside. His face was dirty, and he’d removed part of his armor. “Your sisters asked me to bring you to them. They’re fine,” he added, as if he’d heard Derek’s heart stop. “We’re going to be eating and discussing strategy, but they wanted to be sure you were okay.”

He nodded and stood up. He crossed the tent over to Stiles, stopping only a foot away. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Stiles cracked a small smile. “I’m glad we got here before the Calavera army could get behind all of the soldiers fighting the Argents.” He touched Derek’s cheek lightly. “And I’m glad you’re alright, too.” He swallowed audibly. “I wish you were somewhere safer.”

“I’m—I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Derek tipped his head.

Stiles watched him back. His eyes weren’t quite as empty as they were when he was angry, or cold, but something was off.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure yet. Let’s go talk to your sisters. Maybe I’ll figure it out then.”

“Wait.” Derek caught his wrist. “It’s later.”

“Yes.” 

He inhaled, trying to steel his nerves; somehow, it had been easier to imagine telling Stiles his feelings when he’d been on his way to face an army. “I-I just wanted—I had to tell you…” Oh, god. What if he just stared back at him? What if he tried to tell Derek that he was wrong? _What if he laughed? Don’t be ridiculous,_ he thought sharply. 

Stiles was strong, a fierce king, but not cruel. He waited while Derek gathered his courage, like he had all the time in the world. 

“I’m in love with you.” The words spilled out, quick and nervous, while Derek was looking into Stiles’s eyes. “And—and I just wanted you to know.” He kissed him before he could respond and bolted out of the tent. He found his sisters before Stiles could catch up, hoping to avoid whatever response he’d been trying to form. 

Cora hugged Derek furiously. She was filthy and reeked of blood, sweat, and death, but he hugged her back just as tightly. “Your king fights just like the legends say,” she whispered fiercely. “It was amazing.”

Laura made a low disapproving noise. “Yes, he’s a ferocious warrior,” she permitted. 

Derek met her gaze guiltily.

She sighed and reached over to squeeze his shoulder. 

Something whistled through the air.

Laura’s hand whipped out before Derek could even move; she snarled viciously, snapping the arrow in half. “Archer, in the trees,” she growled.

Cora turned, already drawing her sword, but Stiles raced by before she’d taken her first step.

Derek held his breath.

Stiles ran the archer through with his sword, keeping him impaled on his blade. He reached out and ripped something off the archer’s arm.

“He did that earlier, too,” Cora said, relaxing. “Does he keep a lot of trophies?”

Derek shook his head, frowning. “I didn’t see any, the whole time I was there.” But he’d seen Stiles take a patch from the archer who’d ambushed them on the road, too. Maybe he _did_ keep trophies, and had just kept them hidden. 

Stiles walked back to them. He was examining the patch he’d taken, his scent bitter with suspicion and fear. 

Derek felt himself getting tense in response and tried to calm down. 

Laura sniffed at the arrow she’d broken. “Wolfsbane,” she muttered. “Cora, toss this in the fire, please.”

Cora took it and walked away.

“Something is wrong,” Stiles announced. He held out what he’d taken from the archer: the Calavera insignia.

Laura took it, frowning. “What? It’s just their symbol.” 

Stiles shook his head and dug into his back pocket. He pulled out two more and held out the one in his left. “ _This_ is the Calavera crest.”

Laura shrugged. “I only see that this one is slightly darker.” 

“And bigger. The Calaveras never have their crest that large, and they only display the brightest colors. These-” He waved the one in his left hand. “Aren’t Calaveras. They’re imposters. Have you seen any more like the fake ones?”

Laura looked disgruntled. “Yes. But what does it matter? So they’re Argents pretending to be Calaveras. They’re all trying to kill us.” 

Stiles shook his head. “Something is going on.”

Cora returned, looking intrigued. “I heard,” she said before anyone could try explaining. “Maybe they’re just trying to confuse you? Or they’re hired mercenaries? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had taken advantage of chaos to try to make some money. Four royals on a battlefield do make juicy targets.”

Stiles nodded, but he still looked troubled.

Later, Stiles followed Derek to his tent; he didn’t even pretend to go to his own. Derek saw Laura glaring and grimaced. 

Stiles pressed his palms into his eyes. “I need to stay here in case something happens,” he said apologetically. “I feel like something is going on and that’s…you’re not combat trained.” 

“You don’t have to explain.” Derek took his boots off. “We were taught to trust our guts. Laura’s letting other stuff cloud her judgment.”

“Like what?”

Derek focused on putting his boots out of the way so he wouldn’t have to look at Stiles’s face. “She disapproves of us.”

“Oh.” His voice was utterly lost. He was quiet a moment, likely switching from professional to personal matters. “I see. I understand, but she should concentrate more on the war.”

“She’ll still do her job.” Derek straightened up. “Why did you bring Mason?”

Stiles looked surprised for a brief second, then neutral. “He’s here to help with stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Small tasks. He’s got a lot of hidden skills.” 

He was hiding something.

Derek studied him. He decided not to push it. He had no doubt that arguing with Stiles would be entertaining, but there was too much going on to try. “Alright. Will you sleep?”

He smiled a little. “At sunrise, I will. But you should. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

“I know.”

Stiles extinguished the lantern.

Derek crawled under his blankets. He didn’t realize how tired he was until his cheek pressed into his sleeping mat. He went out like a light. 

 

The acrid scent of panic woke him. He bolted upright, gasping. He had a moment to notice Stiles struggling weakly against someone in the dark before nausea seized him.

He gagged and twisted, bile rushing up and out.

Someone grabbed a fist full of his hair, yanking his head back. A damp cloth pressed over his mouth and nose.

He tried to hold his breath, but eventually he was forced to gasp. The burn of wolfsbane up through his sinuses made his eyes water. He fought it, but one more inhale had his body going limp and useless.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Have added tags for torture. <3 **

Derek woke slowly, prying his eyes apart with great difficulty. His face and throat burned and his muscles felt weak and useless. His arms, he realized, were stuck. He pulled on them weakly. He turned his head slowly and discovered manacles around his wrists, keeping them up on a wall. His ankles were similarly bound. He blinked at them, struggling to understand how they’d come to be.

It took a long time for him to lift his head. He caught his breath.

Stiles was chained to the wall opposite him, unconscious. His heart was steady, though his breathing was raspy.

Derek tried to speak, but the wolfsbane had made his throat tight and dry, preventing him from saying his name. He cleared his throat and winced. He swallowed a few times, until it felt less like he’d shoveled sand down his throat. He huffed irritably and shook his head. It took another few swallows for him to make any noise. “Stiles.” He took a breath. “ _Stiles!_ ”

Stiles jerked, lifting his head. He blinked sluggishly, like he was as groggy as Derek. He spotted him, chained up, and tensed, yanking at his own restraints. 

“Stop, stop, you’re going to hurt yourself.” 

He stopped struggling and looked around, dazed. “Where are we?”

“Dunno. Can’t smell anything. They used wolfsbane.” He wrinkled his nose and snorted, trying to clear the burn away.

Stiles nodded slowly. His eyes were hugely dilated, like he was still drugged. 

Derek looked around. There were no windows, just damp stone walls and a dirt floor. There was a single oil lamp, set so low it barely lit the corner it was in. The chains around his ankles and wrists were significantly thicker than Stiles’s, which made sense. It felt like they were covered in wolfsbane, too, because it took a huge effort just to extend his claws. He imagined he wouldn’t be able to shift, which was unfortunate. His wolf legs were thinner than his wrists and would have slipped free with no issue.

Stiles was dozing again when Derek looked back at him. 

That was probably fine; it would give Derek’s sinuses time to heal from the damage done by inhaling the wolfsbane. If he could smell, maybe he could figure out where they were. 

The more time passed, the more alert he felt. He could hear faint heartbeats beyond the heavy door sealing them in, probably closer than they seemed, the sound muffled by stone. He could also hear the faint scratch and scrabble of rodents, but he couldn’t see any; they were hiding beyond the walls. He wondered why they hadn’t tried to investigate him or Stiles yet. …Well, him, he understood. The scent of werewolves tended to ward off even the bravest of pests.

Stiles, however, was human, and hadn’t been around groups of werewolves long enough to disguise his scent. 

Derek snorted and rubbed his nose against his shoulder. He could smell mold and dirt suddenly, sweat and dried blood on both himself and Stiles. He sniffed a couple times, and stiffened when he recognized the weak scent in the walls, beyond the door. 

Stiles groaned, mumbling something, and lifted his head. “Ugh, my head hurts,” he slurred. 

“We were drugged.” Derek’s heart hammered.

Stiles nodded slowly and cleared his throat. “Where are we?”

Derek smiled slightly. “You asked that before.” He glanced right, toward the door. “I smell werewolves.”

“Fuck. Steele,” Stiles growled. 

Derek nodded. “You’re sure you trust all of your staff?”

Fear slithered through his scent, a brief flash of doubt. “I trust Lydia to ensure the prisoners didn’t escape and weren’t let go. I trusted my staff…” He shook his head. “I still trust them.”

“Okay.” Derek tilted his head. “Someone’s coming.”

“Don’t say anything,” he said quickly. “He wants me. Don’t draw attention to yourself.” Stiles sucked in a breath and pulled himself as straight as he could with all of his limbs chained up. He looked Derek in the eye. His pupils were still slightly overlarge, even for the dim room, but he seemed alert enough. “No matter what he does to me, don’t tell him anything. Don’t answer his questions. Once he has answers, he doesn’t need either of us alive.”

Derek nodded, his heart rabbiting in his chest. 

The footsteps drew closer, stopping just outside the door.

Derek squeezed his hands into fists to keep from making claws. It wouldn’t help, might actually hurt their cause, make it worse. He flinched when the door opened. 

King Deucalion Steele wasn’t exactly a physically imposing man, but something about him managed to be unsettling and threatening anyway. He had a pleasant smile and an aura of menace, even before he’d kidnapped Derek. “Good morning, Your Highness. Boy.” He nodded at Stiles.

Stiles grinned, baring all of his teeth. “You can call me king.” 

Something dark flashed across Deucalion’s face. “No,” he said softly. He stepped closer to Stiles. “No, I don’t think I will. You’ve no right to that throne, just as you had no claim to it when you took it as a child.”

“I was the heir, and I killed the previous king’s killer. I believe that gives me the right in both human and werewolf laws.” He grinned again. “That’s why I took Novak’s kingdom, and that’s why I’ll take yours.”

A low growl escaped before Deucalion could stop it, though he did catch it before it was loud enough for human ears. “Interesting theory,” he said calmly. “I don’t care to waste any more time. Here’s what I want. You go into your war trance, do what I say, and no one will have to get hurt.”

Stiles blinked at him.

Derek struggled to keep his heart rate from rising, though Deucalion barely seemed to be paying attention to him. He didn’t know how Stiles went into the trance, which meant his men hadn’t made it back to him or gotten a message out.

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles snorted. “So I can be your weapon? No, I don’t think so.”

Deucalion sighed. “I can’t say I’m surprised. I suppose I’ll have to try to force it out.”

Stiles tensed. He threw his chin up like a challenge, ready for whatever Deucalion would do to him.

They were both surprised when he spun around and punched Derek in the face. 

His head knocked into the wall with the force of it, leaving him too dazed to see the second punch. This one landed on his ribs, knocking the wind out of him.

“Stop! Fuck you, you spineless, gutless _infant._ What, are you too afraid to come at me directly, too afraid to lose to a _boy?_ ” Stiles’s chains rattled as he yanked on them.

Deucalion hit Derek in the face three more times, until he felt the inside of his cheek split open against his teeth. He switched to his torso for a while, pummeling his ribs.

He was sure at least two of them were broken. His face felt burning hot and raw. 

“You’re pathetic, you’re _nothing,_ ” Stiles raged. “You could have come at me directly, but instead you send little spies, and now this?” He swore. “They’re dead now. I cut them in half.”

Deucalion paused.

“Yeah, that’s right. Queen Argent taught me her favorite way of punishing trespassers.”

Deucalion sighed and punched Derek’s side again; two more tiny _snaps_. 

He gagged, bowing forward as much as he could, being restrained as he was. Blood clogged up his throat from his nose, split cheek, and possibly from a punctured lung. 

Stiles was still yelling, but Derek’s ears were filled with a strange, muted thudding noise.

Finally, finally, Deucalion stepped back and gestured at Derek. “Think about it.” He left, slamming and bolting the door behind him. 

Derek spat out a mouthful of blood. “Don’ lis’en to ’em,” he slurred. “Don’tell ’em anything.” He lifted his head enough to glimpse Stiles’s pale, furious face. His vision was blurry. 

Consciousness winked in and out. 

Sometimes Stiles was speaking, dire promises of retribution and soft apologies to Derek, and others he was quiet, just his steady heartbeat keeping Derek company.

It was quiet when Derek fully regained consciousness. He hurt everywhere, like he’d been trampled, but his vision had cleared. He blinked and licked his lips, found a long string of bloodied drool connected to his mouth. He grimaced and turned his head, wiping it on his shirt.

“Why aren’t you healing?” Stiles’s voice was quiet and even, but the scent of panic mixed with pain and rage gave him away. 

“He’s an alpha,” Derek slurred. He made a face. The inside of his cheek was cut open and swollen. “Takes longer to heal from that.”

“Jesus,” Stiles muttered. “How long?”

“Dunno. Few hours?” He made a face and spat out a tooth. “It’ll grow back,” he said, mostly to himself. He doubted Stiles cared about his teeth that much. He pulled his head up and looked at Stiles. “Don’t tell him anything.”

Stiles glared at him.

“I can handle it.” He rolled his neck, felt one of his ribs snap back to where it was supposed to be. “I’ll heal, and you said so yourself—once he has answers, he doesn’t need me alive.”

Stiles’s jaw flexed. “He should be coming at me, not you.”

Derek smiled, though it hurt his battered face. “You’re famous because you killed the army of the man who killed your father. He’s banking on your protective instinct.”

“He’s forgetting my taste for vengeance,” he snarled. “I’m going to rip his teeth out one by one.” 

“But you aren’t going to tell him anything. Right?”

Stiles’s gaze roamed over Derek’s face, catching on every cut and bruise. He sighed. “Right.”

Derek nodded. “Good.” He took a shallow breath; his lungs were finally healing enough that it didn’t hurt so bad to breathe. “Wonder if they know we’re gone.”

Stiles grimaced. “I’m sure they do. General Reyes will keep everyone in check; Parrish will help.” He glanced at the door. “For their sake, I hope your sisters stay focused.”

“They will. They know more is at stake if they lose to the Argents than me.”

Stiles made a face. “Family isn’t always logical.”

“I hope they will be.” Derek swallowed and dropped his gaze. “They will.” He went quiet, wincing as his body healed various fractures and contusions. The smaller, less urgent wounds wouldn’t heal until those were done.

He must have fallen asleep, because he woke to Stiles shouting. He jerked, forgetting the manacles.

Deucalion looked back at him. “Took you long enough to heal. Does that bitch queen of yours know how pathetic her only son is?”

Derek roared, lunging forward and snapping his fangs on pure instinct.

“I suppose she does,” he said calmly. “Since she made her _daughter_ the heir, and her youngest the general. You’ve been passed over for everything important, haven’t you?” He grinned. “That must have made it enticing to slip into the Boy King’s bed. Finally something you can do for your kingdom.” 

Derek relaxed and met his gaze. “You’re the one who has to kidnap a twenty-year-old human king to defend your territory.” Of course, Stiles was older than twenty, but the point remained. 

Deucalion’s lip lifted.

Derek smiled at him.

Stiles started shouting and cursing again when Deucalion started the beating. 

Derek listened to his voice and went somewhere else in his head. 

Deucalion focused on his abdomen this time around, and he didn’t stop, even when Derek was hacking up blood nonstop. 

“Seeing your lover like this doesn’t make you turn?” he shouted. He calmed himself instantly. “You turned when your father was killed. I thought perhaps I wouldn’t have to kill him.” Deucalion watched Stiles’s face, red with fury. “Hmmm, think about that for a while.” He left without another word.

Stiles waited a few seconds. “Derek, can you hear me?” he barked.

Derek, still choking on his own blood, managed to lift his head and meet his gaze.

“Try to get some of your blood over to me. My own won’t work.”

Derek shook his head.

“I’m not going to sit here and watch while he kills you.” 

“He isn’t going to kill me.” He spat out more blood and took a breath. His whole body felt like it was on fire, as it strained to heal alpha injuries again and again. He let himself breathe for a while, just so he could figure out if he was going to be sick again.

“He might,” Stiles rasped. “He might, if he thinks that’s what pushed me before.”

“But if it doesn’t work, he has no leverage against you. He’ll hold off as long as he wants to try other things first.” He winced as something deep in his gut burned, healing grudgingly. 

“I don’t-”

“Shhh.” He lifted his head, staring over at the door.

Four guards came in. One went to Derek, shoving a cup of water at his face so fast that it clacked against his teeth.

He didn’t even care; he swallowed as much of the water as he could before the guard could pull it away. He vaguely heard the other three giving Stiles water, and almost choked laughing at the idea that three werewolves were sent to give one chained up human water. 

The guard ripped the cup away from him and stalked off.

When the door closed behind them, Stiles muttered a curse. “Hope that wasn’t poisoned,” he said. 

Derek grimaced. “That seems counterproductive.” 

Stiles shrugged, rattling his chains.

Not much time passed at all before Deucalion returned. 

Derek tensed. He wasn’t fully healed, and wasn’t sure if he could take anymore yet. 

Deucalion didn’t even look at him. “I’ve been thinking. I’ve often wondered what it was that caused that very first trance, and I assumed it was your father’s murder all this time. But was it, perhaps, Ennis’s attack on you, instead?” He tilted his head, watching and listening for Stiles’s reaction.

Stiles just stared back at him.

“One way to find out, I suppose.” 

Derek felt his shoulders flexing and realized he was pulling at his restraints before he even knew for sure what was going to happen.

But he knew. Of course he knew.

Deucalion’s fist slamming into Stiles’s jaw was a noise Derek would never forget.

He roared as Deucalion beat him, yanking at his chains and frothing, teeth snapping furiously like he might actually be able to make contact. 

It was an eternity, it was longer even than when Derek had been the one taking the hits. It was agonizing to hear every choked off whimper, every thud of fist on flesh, every wheeze of Stiles’s breath. 

Finally, disgusted, Deucalion fell back. He didn’t say anything as he left, apparently having delivered his message. 

Derek didn’t realize he was sobbing Stiles’s name until he answered him.

“’m okay.” He spat out a mouthful of blood. “He was holding back, I’m fine.”

“He’s an alpha, he could have killed you.” Derek tried to wipe his face on his shoulder, but he couldn’t quite reach. He sniffled. 

Stiles quirked a crooked smile. His teeth were bloody. “He doesn’t want me dead.” He went quiet for a long moment. “I’ll get us out of here.” 

Derek managed a weak smile for him. He couldn’t see how. They were well-guarded and secured. It was hard to imagine them getting out ever. 

He hoped one of his sisters had seen them get taken. Maybe after the war was won, they could send a rescue. And if they couldn’t, if they were unable to, then Derek really didn’t have anything to get back to anyway. He fell asleep to that dismal thought.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all like it! <3

Deucalion alternated between beating Stiles and Derek. He gave Stiles longer between beatings to heal. Stiles had been right about that—Deucalion clearly didn’t want him dead. Since there were no windows there was no way to tell how much time had passed. Derek figured it had been at least a few days, because Stiles’s cheek was scabbed over and they’d been given a little bit of food along with their water. 

“This would be over if you’d just turn.”

Stiles lifted his head and spat blood in his face. 

Deucalion smacked him hard enough that his head snapped to the side. “Do you think I’m playing, boy? I-”

“ _King,_ ” Stiles corrected arrogantly. 

Deucalion snarled, one arm lifting to hit him again.

Derek let loose a howl so loud it hurt his own ears. He didn’t know what good it would do or why he thought it would help, but an alpha in a temper could kill a human on accident. The howl echoed painfully in the enclosed space. 

Deucalion whipped around and knocked Derek across the face. He took out his frustration on him for a while. He didn’t know how long before he snarled something and stepped back. Panting, he tilted his head and studied Derek. He smiled.

Derek cringed involuntarily.

Deucalion stepped in close and grabbed Derek’s left forearm, fingers digging into the flesh.

Derek didn’t understand for a moment.

Then Deucalion snapped his wrist. 

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming. Sweat poured into his eyes, his mouth filling with blood from his cheek.

When Deucalion broke his other wrist, he couldn’t stop the yelp of agony.

Stiles was yelling again.

Deucalion didn’t bother speaking; he stepped back and kicked once, sharply, at Derek’s ribs.

The snap was loud and sickening. The pain had Derek yowling like an infant. 

The pain was all-consuming; he couldn’t hear what Stiles was yelling and snarling, just the noise he was making.

“You can make this stop,” Deucalion was saying when Derek managed to focus. “Just transform, or tell me how to force it.”

“Hey,” Derek rasped, blood dribbling from his mouth.

Deucalion swung back around. “You can save yourself by telling me how to-”

Derek spat blood in his face and grinned. 

Deucalion broke his nose and stomped out.

Stiles said, mournfully, “He chipped my tooth.”

Derek looked at him, blood gushing from his broken nose.

Stiles made a choked off noise, then gasped and started laughing. 

Derek couldn’t help smiling because he got it, really. A chipped tooth was nothing; Derek’s wrists, nose, and ribs were broken, Stiles was a mottled mess of bruises, but the chipped tooth was his first complaint. 

“Why…” Derek paused and leaned forward to spit out the blood gathering in his mouth. “I don’t get it. Why does he care so much about you?”

Stiles shook his head. “Not _me_. The Boy King. He wants the Boy King as his attack dog.” He prodded his chipped tooth with his tongue and continued, “He wants me to kill you, and then whoever else he wants. Wants to put me on a leash and show me off when I’m…not me.” 

Derek swallowed, grimacing at the copper taste. “Can you even…when you’re like that, can you control…?”

“Sometimes, if I fight really hard to direct myself.” He smirked. “Parrish thinks I’d be able to control it better if I tried meditating.”

Derek laughed a little, trying to imagine Stiles being still and calm enough for that.

“My thoughts exactly.” He paused for a long moment, studying Derek head to toe. “How’re your wrists?”

“Still broken. My body is trying to heal my ribs,” he explained. “It’s hard when I haven’t eaten in so long.”

Stiles nodded, lips twisting in a grimace. “Maybe I should tell him.”

“ _What?_ ” 

He shrugged. “If I do, he’ll set me off. These,” he jerked his wrists, making the chains rattle, “are nothing to something like me. I can get out and get him. I could tell him to let you go first.”

Derek shook his head. “You can’t. He’ll just lie. He’ll just tell you he let me go and kill me instead. He’s not just going to let me go.”

“I could make him give me his word, in front of people. His own guards. Even they wouldn’t trust a king who gives his word and then breaks it.”

“But-” He shook his head again. He said, helplessly, “Didn’t your father teach you not to give in to demands like this? It never ends well.”

“He did,” Stiles said evenly, though his face had closed off.

“He’ll find a way around it, or he’ll lie—the only reason we’re still alive is because you haven’t given in yet.”

“ _Barely!_ He broke your ribs _twice_ , Derek! What’s going to happen if he loses his temper and breaks your spine? Your neck? Crushes your skull?”

“He could _easily_ do the same to you!” Derek wheezed as his cracked ribs protested to his shouting. “Do what you want,” he spat, annoyed at how pale Stiles had gone when he couldn’t breathe. “It’s your secret to tell. But leave me out of it.”

Stiles barked out a mirthless laugh. “Like it or not, we’re together in this.” He straightened his shoulders. “I guess if you can take it, so can I.” 

 

The good thing about being a werewolf was that several hours later, Derek was fully healed. His wrists still sort of throbbed, but the bones were no longer in pieces grinding together under his skin.

The bad thing about being a werewolf was that Deucalion knew he would heal from most wounds, as long as certain poisons weren’t involved. That allowed him to…get creative.

Derek wasn’t proud, but the red hot fire pokers dissolved him into a howling, sobbing mess. Burns always took the longest to heal.

“I’ll let him go if you transform,” Deucalion offered, tossing the fire poker to one of his guards. 

“Go to hell.”

Deucalion shrugged and chucked Derek under the chin. “See _you_ in a few hours, pup.”

Derek bared his teeth, though the effect was somewhat lost as he shuddered uncontrollably with pain.

Deucalion left.

“Derek, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Stiles gasped seconds later. “Tell me what to do. Do you want me to tell him?”

“No,” he choked. He couldn’t manage more, but Stiles heard him. 

He let out a wet laugh. “You’re tougher than me. God, I’m so sorry for what he’s doing to you because of me.”

“He’s a bully.”

Stiles sniffled. “Yeah. When I get out of here, I’m going to rip him apart.”

Derek inhaled sharply, filled with unfamiliar glee at the idea.

“Limb from limb,” Stiles went on, as if he’d noticed Derek’s reaction. His voice gained strength as he described what he’d do when he broke free. It lulled Derek to sleep like a bedtime story. 

 

He woke with a grunt sometime later, as the last of his burned flesh sloughed off, revealing fresh skin beneath. He looked around.

Stiles was awake. He nodded at the door and mouthed, “ _Listen._ ” 

Derek tipped his head. 

Deucalion was snarling at someone. “So was he dead or was he unconscious?”

“We aren’t sure, Your Majesty,” a man stammered. 

“If he’s dead, I can’t use him as leverage. So you’d better hope he’s alive, or you’ve got a week to find out what the boy is and how to trigger the monster.” He threw the door open, his gaze shooting straight to Derek. “Mr. Hale,” he said pleasantly, the scent of relief wafting in with him.

Derek, who’d been around Stiles too long, corrected, “ _Prince._ ”

Deucalion backhanded him. “Aren’t you tired of getting your nose broken, pup? Have you learned _nothing?_ ” He pulled Derek’s head up by the hair. “Why aren’t you begging him to save you? All it would take is him telling me how to trigger his transformation, and you won’t have to hurt anymore.” 

Derek pretended to think it over. Then he jerked his head _hard_ and bit Deucalion’s wrist with a mouthful of fangs, savagely proud when he came away with flesh. 

Deucalion snarled and hit him again. “Stupid dog,” he spat. He looked at Stiles, all but shaking with fury. “Transform. I’ll let him go.” 

Stiles bared his teeth. “You’re nothing but a jealous, petty child. You’re pathetic. You’re here posturing instead of leading your kingdom. You’re nothing.” 

Deucalion roared and punched Stiles in the mouth. 

His head knocked into the wall.

Derek shouted, “ _Don’t!_ You’ll kill him!” 

“Then I guess it’s your turn again,” Deucalion snarled. He managed one step before an odd sound stopped him.

Derek frowned, disconcerted. 

Stiles continued to laugh.

“What?” Deucalion snarled. “What are you laughing at?”

He kept laughing. “Your hand is bleeding, Steele,” he said in a strange, guttural voice. His eyes filled with blood.

Deucalion seemed frozen.

Stiles’s muscles bulged; he ripped his right arm free, then his left. His legs pulled the shackles off the wall like they were barely nailed on. 

“Yes!” Deucalion hissed. 

Derek thought, _Oh, shit,_ and pressed back against the wall.

“Don’t worry,” Deucalion laughed. “I’m sure he’ll make it quick.” He backed toward the door, and looked mildly alarmed when Stiles tracked him. 

Stiles let out a bestial scream and lunged, nearly taking Deucalion down.

Derek tried to hold as still and quiet as possible, especially as they rolled by in a tangle. He smelled blood and cringed, hoping it was Deucalion’s. He did _not_ want to know what would happen if an alpha bit and changed an enraged berserker. 

They slammed into the far wall, shaking the room. Stiles roared and broke Deucalion’s arm, then grabbed his head. He smashed it against the stone. 

Derek looked away. 

The door _snick_ ed open. 

A boy entered. 

Derek gaped at him.

Mason held a finger to his lips and rushed to Derek. He made quick work of the shackles. “Come on,” he hissed.

“But Stiles-”

“He’s fine,” he muttered. “Look, most of King Steele’s brains are all over the wall. Come _on_ , before he notices us.”

Derek stumbled out into the hall before him.

Mason closed Stiles into the dungeon. “So he can calm down,” he explained. 

Derek looked around for the guards, but they were nowhere to be seen. “How…?”

Mason grinned. “His Majesty likes to have me around to help out.” 

“With _what?_ ”

“Everything.” He sighed. “His Majesty just likes to have me nearby in case anything like _this_ happens. I’m his…” His mouth twisted a little. “Last resort, I guess? Back-up plan?” He shrugged. “He caught me stealing weapons from Raken’s soldiers, then selling them back to them in the middle of the war. He offered to move my family to his kingdom, set them up, and he also offered me a job.” 

“You’re his thief?”

Mason grinned. “I’m his assassin. But being a thief helps.” He held up the keys. “The guards are locked in cells. Quite a few of King Steele’s most trusted have been tragically poisoned. And the king himself, well, His Majesty is handling that.” 

“How long have you been here?”

“Oh, not long. I fell behind a bit, but I saw them take you. Anyhow, I’ve been wreaking havoc. Once His Majesty is…himself again, we can get out of here. He’ll come back,” he added. “Werewolf kingdoms defer to whoever defeated the previous king or alpha, right?”

“Yes. That’s why my queen can’t leave the mansion for the war. She has to be in the throne to accept any challenges.” Derek shrugged. “She rarely gets any, except the annual one from one of her cousins.” 

“So straightforward,” Mason sighed. “Must be nice.”

Within the cell, something cracked and snapped sickeningly.

“Guess he isn’t calm yet,” Derek muttered. 

“Not yet. Once it’s been quiet and dark for long enough, he’ll calm down. In the meantime…” Mason wrinkled his nose. “I assume you’ve been locked in there since you arrived. There’s a bathroom down the hall.” 

Derek had been through _hell_ for days. He couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed of the various things he was covered in. “How long has it been, exactly?”

“Since you were taken? You don’t want to know.” He grimaced.

“Tell me.”

He shrugged. “They kidnapped you guys about two and a half weeks ago.”

“Two _weeks?_ ” 

He nodded. “I heard them talking when I was following them here; they had to keep you guys heavily drugged on the journey. How long did you think it took for them to get you here?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t have time to think about it.”

The door shuddered as Stiles slammed against it, making deep, low, threatening noises. 

“I have some clothes for both of you. There’s a bathroom down here so the guards don’t have to leave prisoners unguarded for very long,” he explained. 

 

Derek was hyper-alert and jumpy the whole time he was washing up. He’d mostly healed—his wrists and ankles were still raw and oozing—so it wasn’t too painful. He was quick and thorough, too nervous to linger. What if someone came looking for Deucalion? They’d just find Derek free, Mason lingering, and Stiles…doing whatever it was that Stiles did when he was in his trance. 

The clothes Mason had given him were his own, which seemed strange. Or maybe not. He _had_ been in Derek’s tent before they’d been taken. Maybe he’d grabbed stuff then, or at least scoped out where they were. 

He took a breath, forcing his mind to stop fixating on the clothes, and left the bathroom. 

Mason was standing in the doorway of the cell, speaking in a low, even voice.

Derek rushed to him. 

The door was open and Stiles was there, hunched over and covered in blood. His face was pale and mostly cleared of the bruises that’d marred it. He noticed Derek gaping and quirked a smile. “The trance speeds up healing.” 

“I see.” He looked around, bewildered and exhausted. “Now what?”

Mason spoke up. “Now His Majesty gets cleaned up and takes over the throne here.”

Stiles winced. “I have more important things to get to, Mason. But I also have to ensure the leadership is stable here before we leave.”

Mason nodded and held out a bag. “Bathroom down the hall. Shall I acquire some weapons and armor for you?”

“Yes, please.” Stiles took the bag. “Mason. Thank you.”

Mason looked bashful suddenly. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He bowed and left quickly.

Derek showed Stiles to the bathroom, and remained there while he washed.

“Did I hurt you at all?” Stiles asked abruptly, while he was still cleaning up.

“You mean while you were…”

“Yes.”

“No. You were only interested in Steele.” 

He let out a quiet breath of relief. “Okay. Good.”

“Are you okay? Do you have the energy to travel?”

“Yes.” 

Once Stiles was dressed, Mason returned with some knives and a sword, mysteriously acquired, as well as a breastplate. 

“I sent word to Lady Martin a week ago, while I was poking around,” he said. “She should be sending a rescue mission here soon.” He tilted his head toward the hall. “I was going to give it another day before I gave you blood myself, but I figured it wouldn’t be long before Steele messed up.” 

Stiles shook his head. “That’s not how we operate. Thanks.” He rubbed his cheek. “I’ll have Lady Martin’s rescue mission keep the palace until my business is settled, then. Have the Hales sent anyone after Derek?" His mouth tightened.

Mason grinned crookedly. "No, there were none who could be spared from the battlefield. I assured Princess Hale that I would return with you and news of her brother. I thought you might prefer that."

Stiles nodded, grateful. "And what is the state of Steele's retinue?”

“His most trusted, his advisors, noblemen, and council are all dead. His knights and army may be a problem, but from what I can tell, none of them will fight a fair takeover.” He shrugged. “Maybe a few stragglers, but the majority will defer.”

“Thank you.” Stiles clasped his shoulder briefly. “Derek, do you want to wait-”

“No.” He shuddered. He didn't want to be left alone.

Stiles nodded. “Alright. Stay close to Mason.” He rolled his shoulders back, pulling on confidence and self-assurance like a cloak. He looked ruffled and faintly bruised, but that somehow made it even more obvious that the Boy King was here and ready to take over.

Steele’s castle was huge. As they walked and Mason told Stiles what he’d learned about the place, Derek looked around. 

Steele had ornate frames and portraits everywhere. He didn’t have a family, and his pack—if he had one—had never made appearances anywhere. 

Derek saw a portrait of the twin alphas who’d been captured and hesitated. There was another portrait, with the twins, a large man, and Deucalion, that made him wonder if _that_ was Deucalion’s pack. He couldn’t figure out why he’d never heard of or seen Deucalion’s pack before. Why keep them hidden?

The throne room was huge…and occupied. Knights and staff had gathered. Stiles didn’t seem as bothered by that as Derek. He stepped into the room and said in a booming voice, “King Deucalion Steele is dead.”

Silence drifted over the room as everyone turned to see who’d spoken. 

Derek tensed at his side, ready to fight if they had to. He heard someone mutter, “ _The Boy King_ ,” and shouting erupted. 

“Hale!” someone cried out, and eyes turned to him.

He flashed his eyes; a hundred flashed back at him. 

“Where’s the proof?” a knight—the royal knight, it looked like—snarled.

“Back in the dungeon,” Stiles replied. “Yield or challenge my right to the throne now.” 

Derek’s stomach twisted nervously.

The werewolves looked at him again.

Slowly, the majority of them bowed to their new king.

Two women near the throne did not bow. They wore dresses rather than armor or uniforms; the dark haired one was smirking, while her fairer companion looked more composed. 

“King Stilinski,” she greeted, her voice carrying easily over the stunned crowd. 

“Queen Harel.” He looked mildly relieved before his stern expression returned. 

Queen Harel’s wife, Queen _Kali_ Harel, bared her teeth at the crowd. 

Stiles swept his gaze over them as well. “I’ve matters to attend to. You have two weeks to decide whether to abide by the laws of your kingdom, defer to me, and remain in your country, or if you will challenge my rule in a fight to the death, or if you will leave.”

“Any who do not defer will not be welcome in Harel territory,” Queen Harel added. She nodded at Stiles. “Of course.”

He observed them for a long moment, his gaze hard and unwavering. “Clear the room, except the general and royal knight.” 

Derek caught his breath. 

They began to move, either with stunned obedience or because they truly had accepted their new king.

Or Deucalion was such a terrible ruler that his people didn’t care that he’d been killed. 

Derek grimaced, moving aside automatically as people began to file out. He nodded back at the ones who bowed to him on their way by. 

Two men remained: a knight and the general. 

Stiles stepped toward them; Derek kept up just a pace behind, with Mason on his other side. “You would have been closest to King Steele. What will you do now that your king is dead?”

The general bowed his head. “You bested him in combat. That makes you king.” He seemed calm and abiding.

The knight was not so. He ripped the Steele crest off his shirt and tossed it at Stiles’s feet. He turned on his heel and left. 

Stiles nodded. “General…?”

“Mathis, sir.”

“General Mathis, Mason and some knights from my kingdom are going to be here in my stead until I have met my other obligations and can turn my full attention here. For now, I will just have the deed and declaration.”

Derek flinched; he hadn’t realized Stiles would think of the declaration. Humans abided by deeds of ownership of land; werewolves had declarations of leadership. When a monarch was defeated in battle or combat, their declaration was passed over with their title. The deed was small to them, in the face of losing what was essentially their extended pack and territory. 

But of course Stiles would know. He’d have taken Novak’s declaration and deed, in order to take his land. Same as Lawson.

“ _We’ll_ go get it,” Derek said loudly. He didn’t trust the general.

His expression hardened. “Of course, Your Highness. If you wish.” 

Stiles shot him a quick, worried glance, but he didn’t stop him.

Derek followed General Mathis behind the throne, to a small hallway and into a secluded study. It smelled like Deucalion and frustration inside, like he’d spent time there fuming. There were maps on all of the walls, old ones of the continent that still showed Novak, Lawson, and Raken land as separate from Stilinski’s kingdom. 

Harel was crossed through, as well as Argent and Ito. 

Derek looked at the messy desk. “Is it here?” he asked.

“Yes.” Mathis sounded stiff, like he didn’t appreciate the question. “In the safe behind the portrait.” 

Derek stared at him.

He sighed loudly and went to uncover the safe.

Derek looked back at the map. He wasn’t surprised the general had started acting surly as soon as they were out of Stiles’s sight. He _was_ surprised by his outright hostility. Surely he knew his attitude wouldn’t gain him any favor.

Mathis’s heartbeat ticked up.

Derek swung around and leaped back. He knocked into the wall, wrinkling the map. 

A sword pointed at his throat. Mathis held a roll of papers under his left arm. “I won’t have some human in our throne,” he hissed.

Derek bared his fangs and tried to figure out how he was going to get out without being impaled. He was just coming to the decision to wound his own arm in the name of saving his throat when the door opened. 

Something shot across the room. 

Mathis jerked aside.

Mason _tsk_ ed quietly.

Derek lunged and ripped the sword from Mathis’s hand.

Mathis snarled and lunged at Mason, who shot his small crossbow again.

This time, the arrow struck Mathis high on the chest, sending him stumbling.

“Those aren’t yours,” Mason said lightly, darting forward and snatching the papers out of his hand. 

Derek glimpsed a seal and Steele’s crest, old and older signatures, as well as plenty of dust. He pressed clawed hands into Mathis’s shoulders, keeping him on the floor.

“He isn’t going anywhere,” Mason said dismissively. 

He looked down at Mathis, who was indeed not struggling at all against Derek’s grip. “What was it?”

“Paralytic wolfsbane.” He shrugged. “His Majesty didn’t trust him to willingly return with the papers, and was further worried when you went with him. Are you alright?”

Derek stared down at Mathis, who’d sunk further to the floor as the wolfsbane spread. “Yes.”

“Keep the sword.” Mason held the door open.

Stiles was speaking to the Queens Harel when they returned to the throne room. He stopped abruptly at the sight of Derek holding a sword. 

“Taken care of, Your Majesty,” Mason said, passing the papers over. 

“You’re getting a raise when we get home,” Stiles muttered, making him beam. Then he looked back at the queens. “Your assistance is appreciated, Your Majesties. Truly.”

“What are allies for?” Queen Jennifer smiled. “We were suspicious when Steele invited us, we thought it may have something to do with you.”

“He was particularly arrogant,” Queen Kali muttered. “Did he capture you himself?”

“He sent a group of undercover soldiers.”

Queen Kali snorted inelegantly. “Typical,” she mumbled too low for Stiles to possibly have heard. 

Queen Jennifer giggled and patted her arm. “Well, King Mieczysław, we’re happy to watch over things here until you’re ready and able to handle it.”

“Thank you.” 

Queen Kali suddenly looked at Derek. Her gaze was harsh, somehow, judging and fierce. “Do you intend to fight, prince?”

“I—no,” he stammered. “No.”

She nodded, losing her intensity and turning back to Stiles. “Safe travels, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you.”

“I have horses, Your Majesty, and supplies for your trip,” Mason said, leading them away. 

And just like that, they were leaving.

Derek thought maybe he was dreaming.


	17. Chapter 17

The trip through Steele land was uneventful; people either hadn’t heard or didn’t care about their king’s death. Mason had packed plenty of supplies, negating any need for stops, except when they needed to sleep. The hardest part was keeping anyone from recognizing Stiles. Thankfully, it was winter, and chilly even in the southern part of the continent. Somewhat. 

“I don’t know how this is going to help once we get to Calavera land,” Stiles muttered on their third night of travel. “I might pass out from the heat.”

“We’ll just have to use the backroads and merchant paths. No one will be paying much attention to other people there. I know the way.”

“How?”

“I studied a lot of maps back home,” Derek mumbled. “I like them. There are backroads and paths smugglers take. If we use them and stay out of the way, we should be fine.” 

“Yes.” Stiles moved his scarf off his mouth slightly. “Your knowledge of maps and smuggling travel paths is incredibly attractive.”

Derek flushed. “It’s just geography.”

“Uh-huh.”

 

Calavera territory was desert-like, even in the winter; somewhat chilly at night, but warmed by the unrelenting sun during the day. Stiles was still healing from the damage Deucalion had done, despite it being vastly sped up by his trance, so they decided it was best to hole up during the day and travel at night, to prevent heat stroke.

They found a cave to camp in four days into Calavera land. Derek shifted and chased out whatever critters were there. He only felt a little bad; they’d only be there until the sun went down, and the animals would most likely find a place to take shelter until then. 

It was too hot to sleep close together, so they sprawled on the somewhat cool stone near each other, fingertips touching.

“I should be healed soon,” Stiles said.

“Good.” He felt him looking at him and turned his head. 

He smiled sadly. “You’re amazing. I’m…in awe of how you held up to Deucalion.” He swallowed and dropped his gaze. “But I’m sorry that you had to.”

Derek leaned over and kissed him, long and slow. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Stiles stared up at him with his mouth parted just so with want. “Yeah, it was,” he whispered.

“No. Deucalion was at fault.” He kissed him again just because he had to, and leaned back.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Not yet.” He knew when he had time to slow down and process things, he’d probably need to talk to someone about the abuse he’d suffered through. For now, he had Stiles and the war to focus on. 

“Okay,” Stiles murmured.

 

They were nearing the Hale territory border when they ran into trouble. Derek was annoyed, because they’d been doing so well. 

It started with two men following them at a distance on horses. 

“Yeah, I noticed them.” Stiles shrugged. “Maybe they’re lost.” His gaze locked with Derek’s significantly, as if he didn’t believe that either. 

It was dark enough that Stiles had taken off the scarf and hat he’d been using to hide his face. He looked like he regretted it.

“There’s two people on each side of the road up ahead,” Derek muttered. 

“Waiting?”

“Sounds like it.”

Stiles swore under his breath. “Think we can out run them?” He scratched his horse’s ears affectionately.

“There’s too many.” Derek flexed his hands nervously on the reins. 

They were going to get jumped. 

Or maybe not. Maybe they just liked hanging out around cacti and dry brush.

They were well-trained, Derek would give them that. They had them and their horses surrounded in seconds, as soon as they drew level with the four waiting ahead. One of the women flung a handful of wolfsbane at Derek’s face; he jerked back and toppled off his horse, who shot forward in terror. 

“Hunters,” Stiles greeted, almost pleasant. 

Derek scrubbed his hand across his face, trying to clear the clingy, fine-powdered wolfsbane away. His skin was burning and peeling beneath it, and his vision and sense of smell were completely shot.

“You look awfully familiar,” one of the women said. 

“Steffi,” a man gasped. “That’s-”

“ _Niño Rey,_ ” she murmured, grinning slowly. “What happened to your face, boy?”

Stiles’s voice was arrogant. “Killed Deucalion Steele. What happened to yours?”

Derek rolled onto his stomach and rubbed his shirt over his face. He blinked hard, until his vision was no longer blurry. He braced his hands flat on the dirt and pushed up.

A boot stomped down on his arm. “Don’t move, wolf.”

He glared up at the man standing on him. 

Behind him, the man who’d recognized Stiles said, “You’re both going to give us everything you have, we’ll decide whether it’s valuable or not, and we’ll all leave, agreeable-like.”

“Or we take King Stilinski here, see how much his kingdom is willing to pay to get him back.”

Someone’s heart started pounding. “And if he kills us?” they muttered. “You _do_ know who he is, don’t you?”

“Or,” the woman called Steffi said, louder, “we kill him and give his body to Queen Argent, for an even bigger reward without giving him the chance to kill us.”

Stiles made a low noise. 

The man standing on Derek’s hand grabbed the back of his neck and yanked him to his feet. 

Derek snarled and shook him off, baring his teeth as he put distance between them. 

Another hunter on his right got off his horse and yanked a sword out of its sheath.

Stiles had been pulled from his saddle, though he had a sword in hand and looked ready for blood. 

“Yeah,” Steffi said with a grin. “Yeah, let’s take him dead.”

The hunter at his right lunged at Stiles, sword aimed high; Derek grabbed the back of his jacket and flung him as hard as he could away from them. 

Stiles was already sword fighting the others.

One of them turned and ran at him with a knife, vicious smirk in place. 

He ducked aside and swiped at the hunter’s hand with his claws. The knife fell as the hunter yelped; Derek yanked the hunter’s arms behind his back and flattened him to the ground.

He turned his head and grinned when he saw Stiles had only one hunter left. 

The hunter under him squirmed. “Let me go, you flea-bitten sack of shit,” he snapped. “Fight me like half a man.”

“Shut up.” Derek pushed his head into the dirt.

Someone ran past them. 

The hunter he’d thrown.

Derek shot to his feet without thinking, chasing him.

The hunter had his sword raised, aiming for Stiles’s spine while he fought the last hunter. The metal glinted and Derek lunged. He didn’t think; he caught the man, grabbed his head, and twisted.

The sharp crack had everything going still and quiet for a second. 

The body thumped to the ground at Derek’s feet. 

Stiles ran the stunned hunter through with his sword and spun around. He stopped, breathing hard. 

Derek’s hands were still half-raised, eyes wide. He’d just taken _a life._ A person was dead because of him. He’d killed animals for food, and he’d stepped aside to let enemies be killed but he’d never dealt death with his own hands. The back of his throat burned.

Stiles sheathed his sword and carefully approached. He put his hands in Derek’s. “Are you okay?”

He blinked slowly. “Are you?”

“Yeah. Hang on.” Stiles stepped around him. There was a shout, a wet gurgle, and the hunter Derek had forgotten on the ground was dead, too. “We should go.” He studied Derek’s face. “We can set up camp for the night, get going in the morning.”

He shook his head. “No, I…we’re nearly in Hale territory. Plus, we have extra horses now. It would be cruel to leave them alone here,” he explained when Stiles looked at him. “So we take them.”

“Alright, we’ll take them. Derek, you-” He stopped and shook his head. “You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.” 

“I think you’re reading too much into something I didn’t plan to do.” He shrugged uncomfortably. He looked ahead and saw his horse wandering back as if she _hadn’t_ fled in terror minutes ago. _At least she came back,_ he thought wearily.

Stiles didn’t say any more; he simply began collecting the hunters’ horses, murmuring soothingly to them and lining them up so he could keep them together. 

Derek glanced back at the body of the man he’d killed and felt sick to his stomach. He didn’t really regret it—that would mean regretting saving Stiles’s life, and he couldn’t do that—but he wished it hadn’t been necessary. 

He wiped his clammy hands on his pants and went to get his horse. 

 

The rest of the night was quiet. They made camp when the sun came up using a tent Mason had packed. They found some shade for the horses and gave them water before crawling into the tent. 

“Sorry it’s so small,” Stiles whispered.

Derek turned his face into Stiles’s chest and mumbled, “I don’t mind.”

Stiles locked his arms around him. He brushed his cheek against Derek’s and sighed. “About what you said before we were taken-”

Derek squeezed his eyes shut. “Not now, please.”

He paused. “If that’s what you want.” He kissed the edge of his jaw and settled in to sleep. 

Derek tucked himself closer and closed his eyes.

 

A day and a half later, they made it to Hale territory. Derek could feel it, a sense of being close to home, of belonging. The territory line was marked with the Hale crest and the lush greenery that tended to mark well-kept werewolf territory. 

He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.

“We’re close, then?”

He could hear the smile on Stiles’s voice. He glanced at him and found him watching. “Yeah. It’s still a long way to the frontlines, but we’re home.” He flushed. “Sorry, I meant-”

“I know what you meant.” Stiles flashed him another smile. 

He swallowed and turned his eyes back to the path. He felt a shiver of awareness, and caught a scent on the wind. “We’re near a pack,” he said cautiously. “They probably live around here, but they shouldn’t mind us passing through.”

“Should we make sure, though? I wouldn’t want to offend or alarm anyone. You are at war,” he added. 

Derek looked at him; his eyes had deep shadows under them, and he’d lost weight, clearly. Endless days of travel were hard on humans, and Stiles was no different, even with his incredible skills. “We should stop for the night,” he said abruptly. “There’s time. I can catch us something to eat as soon as we get set up.”

“You aren’t subtle. We can keep going. Just do whatever you have to do to make sure we don’t step on your citizens’ toes.” He looked mildly insulted. 

Derek studied him a moment longer. If he pressed the issue, Stiles might insist on continuing without him. He sighed and rolled his shoulders back. He drew in a deep breath, expanding his chest, and tipped his head. The howl he let out was friendly, just letting the pack nearby that they were passing through.

“Wow. You have some impressive lungs-” Stiles began, cut off by the answering, welcoming howl. “ _Damn._ ”

Derek snorted. “It’s a talent,” he said dryly. 

“Right. Does that mean we’re good?”

“Yes.” He reached forward to scratch his horse’s ears. “We’re good.” He felt Stiles eyeing him suspiciously, but didn’t say anything.

Someone found them within twenty minutes; it was a young man, partially shifted. His eyes went wide with shock and he dropped into a hasty bow. “Your Highness,” he said reverently. 

“Hello. What’s your name?”

“Wade Patton, Your Highness.” He kept his bow. “Our pack would be honored to host you for the evening, Your Highness.”

“I…” He glanced at Stiles, surprised to find his expression carefully blank; his scent was sharp with confusion. “Is your alpha here?”

Wade nodded rapidly. “Yes, sir. She asked me to come greet you. We didn’t know it was you, so she didn’t come herself. Sir.”

“We will speak to her before anything is decided, Mr. Patton. Thank you.”

Wade flushed, looking pleased, and turned to lead the way.

“What’s going on?” Stiles murmured stiffly.

Derek glanced at him, puzzled. He ran over the conversation in his head and winced as he realized: Wade Patton had been speaking the native language of Derek’s kingdom, not the universal language of the continent. Because they had chosen to speak that instead of universal automatically, he assumed they’d never learned.

“Their alpha wants to meet us,” he said quickly, to cover the over-long silence. “And—and I can’t just say no. These are my people, and it’s…it’s not-”

Stiles shook his head. “It’s fine.”

The Patton pack lived in a small group of homes clustered together; the main house was the largest, out front, in a space cleared of trees. There was a barn with several pens and noisy livestock to the left, along with a crowd of dogs that came running to investigate them.

Wade whistled sharply and sent the group running back to the yard. “Sorry, Your Highness. They’re trained to investigate newcomers.”

“That’s fine.”

Alpha Patton was waiting for them in front of the main house, wearing a dusty pair of jeans and an overlarge shirt. Her gray and brown hair was tied back loosely. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of them. “Your Highness.” She bowed hastily. 

“Alpha Patton.” Derek dismounted and approached, leaving a polite distance between them. “We’re just passing through on our way to the frontlines.”

She nodded. “It’s rather late, Your Highness. Your companion looks tired. We would be honored to share a meal with you, and we’ve more than enough space for you to rest for the night.” 

“We don’t wish to impose; we just wanted to let you know we were passing through.” 

She smiled, unexpectedly bright. “Yes, but you’re both tired and hungry, and you’ve been away from your pack. We have a guest room or two.” 

Derek couldn’t refuse—their people had always been hospitable, and the Hales had always returned the sentiment. They took care of each other, and refusing an invitation like this would be inexcusably rude. 

“Let me speak to my companion,” he said slowly.

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Derek went back to Stiles and the horses. “She would like us to stay for dinner, and overnight.”

“Derek…”

“I want to get back as much as you do,” he said swiftly. “But these are my people, and if they think we’re panicking about this war, they will, too.” He shrugged. “And we’ve always accepted hospitality.”

Stiles nodded slowly. “Alright. That’s fine.”

He couldn’t tell if he really thought so or not, his face had been closed off as soon as they’d run into Wade, but it didn’t seem to matter; he was getting off his horse and stepping forward already. 

“You can keep your horses in the barn,” Alpha Patton said. “Wade.”

The young man nodded and approached the horses tentatively. 

Stiles glanced at Derek before handing the reins over. “Thank you.”

Wade smiled uneasily and nodded, most likely guessing what he’d said. 

Stiles stepped up to Derek’s side.

“Please, come inside. I’m Alpha Wenda Patton. That’s my son, Wade.” 

“This…” Derek faltered somewhat. Then, seeing no other way, he continued, “This is King Mieczysław Stilinski, Alpha. Our ally. He’s helping with the Argent and Calavera attack.”

She stiffened. “The Boy King?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her gaze swept over him and, inexplicably, softened. “He looks younger in person. And tired. You’ve been traveling a long time?”

“Yes, ma’am. From the Steele kingdom.”

“Steele.” Her mouth twisted. “Nasty man. Queen Hale sent you?”

“No, ma’am. King Steele thought to use King Mieczysław as a weapon. He wanted me for leverage.” He gestured at Stiles. “He’s been through a lot, but he got us both out. He protected me,” he added, ducking his head slightly.

She smiled. “Then we owe him our gratitude for saving our prince.”

Derek flushed. “Yes.”

“Does he not speak the language?”

“No, ma’am, just universal.”

She nodded. “Then please tell him he’s as welcome as you are and that we are grateful to him.”

Derek bowed his head and turned to Stiles to convey the message. “She wants you to know that you’re welcome.”

Stiles lifted his brows. “I thought I already was.” He still looked closed off, distant. 

He shuffled his feet. “She’s also grateful to you for what you’ve done and are doing to help us.”

Stiles nodded and looked up at her; he smiled. 

She looked pleasantly startled, smiling back.

That was the first time Derek had seen him smile at anyone else; he liked it.

The Patton pack was large and boisterous; they were eager to please and thrilled to meet both Derek and Stiles. Or, they were, once Derek promised the children that as terrifying as he was on the battlefield, Stiles was actually very kind. It didn’t help that Stiles held himself stiff and formal as they were seated for dinner, but Derek assumed it was just that he felt uncomfortable not being able to understand anyone. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, anyway; dinner was an _event._

Candles were lit, chairs were dragged in, place settings were laid out that Derek had to assume weren’t normal, considering the children kept asking their parents if it was a holiday. 

“Let us fuss,” an elder said with a quick, fun grin. “It isn’t every day we have our prince at our table, let alone with a king in tow.” She wagged her finger at him before he could redirect her. “Don’t think I don’t see the way you look at him. The moon may not be full, but my sight’s as good as any.” She winked.

Several of the teenagers giggled.

Derek covered his face to hide his flush. 

“What?” Stiles whispered. “Did I do something?”

“Ah…no. They’re quite taken with you.” He smirked at the two teenagers whispering and giggling to each other. “Just something I did, that’s all.” 

They dined on venison the pack had hunted a few days ago, and vegetables from their fields. Derek was asked seven different times if he was enjoying the meal. One of the teenagers was trying her hardest to flirt with Stiles, who asked Derek to translate with a blank expression.

“What’s the matter?” Derek murmured when the meal was mostly finished. “Do you want me to tell her to stop?”

Stiles turned to face him fully. “It’s fine. I…” He dropped his gaze slightly, took a breath, and looked up again. “I feel I should have made an effort to learn your language.”

“Most of us use universal,” Derek said quickly. He smiled uneasily. “I don’t speak your kingdom’s native language.”

“Yet,” he said. “But I bet you’d been studying it before you came to me.”

“I studied a lot of things,” he replied cagily. He noticed, abruptly, that the table had grown quiet. He smiled at their hosts. “King Stilinski extends his apologies that he can’t thank you for the meal in your language.”

Alpha Patton waved this away. “That isn’t a problem at all. But make sure he gets another plate, yes? He’s very skinny.”

“Tah! Momma, look at his shoulders, he is not skinny,” the teenager on Stiles’s left protested. 

“You can tell from the face, kid; it’s always the face first.” She gestured at him. “Tired and hungry. Mika, give him some more meat. He needs protein.” 

Stiles looked at Derek, apparently mystified, but didn't say anything when they added more food to his plate. 

Derek muffled a laugh.

“And Phoebe, stop flirting with the man,” she added sharply. “He hasn’t a clue what you’re saying.”

“Yeah, _Phoebe._ Prince Derek won’t like you flirting with his boyfriend,” a younger boy whispered, just loud enough to be heard.

“Cooper!” a woman across the table snapped. She looked horrified. “Apologies, Your Highness.”

“It’s alright.” He smiled at her to ease her anxiety and did not confirm or deny her son’s assumption. 

They were shown to a guest suite after dessert, much larger than Derek was expecting. “We can wash your clothes, if you’d like,” Alpha Patton offered, which Derek took to mean their clothes were exactly as offensively filthy as he’d feared. 

“Thank you for your generosity, Alpha,” he said, dipping his head. 

She smiled at him. “Just put your clothes in the basket outside of the door. We’ll get it done.” 

When they were alone, Stiles looked at Derek and seemed to visibly deflate. He suddenly looked exhausted. 

“Are you alright?”

He nodded. “I didn’t expect them to be so…”

“Informal?” Derek’s mouth twisted.

“So comfortable with you,” he blurted. He looked away. “I’m not used to that.” 

He shrugged helplessly. “We’re a small kingdom. They’ve watched me grow up.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean to offend you. I meant that it was a different experience than I’m used to with my own people. Please excuse me,” he added quickly, and went to the bathroom. He closed himself in.

Derek stood for a moment, conflicted. He went to the bathroom, then paused, staring at the door. He heard Stiles breathing, his heartbeat, but couldn’t figure out what was wrong; his scent simply seemed tired and overwhelmed. “Stiles?”

“Sorry, you can wash up first. I just need a minute.” Anxiety spiked in his scent, his heartbeat slowly speeding up. His breaths stuttered. 

Derek looked around helplessly; he couldn’t just barge in. “They like you,” he said. “The kids are fascinated by you. They’ve heard of you, but you were a legend, not a guy who ate glazed, roasted carrots at their table even though he didn’t like them.”

Stiles let out a quiet, muffled laugh. “How could you tell?”

“You smelled of dread and ate them really fast.”

A pause. “I really hate carrots.” He made a suspicious sniffling noise. The door opened. He looked composed. He smiled slightly. “Thanks. I won’t do that again.”

Derek shook his head. “You didn’t do anything.” He hesitated. “What were you so upset about?”

“I think I’m overly tired and wasn’t able to really process things. You can wash up first. Really, I’m fine now.” He smiled, but it seemed off, plastered on rather than genuine. 

Derek didn’t know how to push without breaking, so he just nodded and went to get clean. 

It wasn’t until later, dressed in freshly washed clothes and curled together in a bed that smelled faintly of dust and strangers, that Stiles burrowed his face against Derek’s neck.

“Can you teach me to thank them?” he whispered. 

Derek smiled into the dark. “Yes, of course.” 

They didn’t sleep until Stiles could say a heartfelt “thanks” in the language of the Hale kingdom. Derek loved him so much his heart ached. 

 

Alpha Patton gave them food the next morning, and the rest of their clean clothes. “We fed your horses, brushed ’em down, the works.” She grinned. 

“Thank you, Alpha. We truly wouldn’t have made it far without your generosity.”

“We’re always happy to help. Your sisters are fighting a war to protect us. We’d be selfish to turn you away.”

He smiled. “There are people who don’t care whether it’s selfish or not.” He glanced at Stiles, nodding slightly. 

He stepped forward and straightened his shoulders. “Alpha Patton,” he began carefully, “I wanted to thank you sincerely for your, uhhh, hospitality.” His face flushed as he stumbled over the words. “We’d like your pack to keep our spare horses—we only need twelve, I mean, two. And…” He muttered, “fuck,” in universal and glanced at Derek for help.

“You did great,” he whispered. He looked at Alpha Patton. “You can sell the horses if you’d like. We picked them up on the road and don’t need them.”

“That’s very generous, Your Highness. Be safe on your trip.” She clasped Derek’s arm, then Stiles’s, looking pleased when he thanked her again. “Tell him he’s learning quickly.”

Several of the teenagers followed them off the property in their fur, letting out playful barks and howls to see them off. 

“Is everyone in your kingdom like that?” Stiles asked several hours later.

“I can’t speak for _everyone_ in the kingdom, but most packs are, with us.” Derek shrugged. “We’re their protectors, their leaders. I guess it’s hard to explain to such a big and mixed kingdom.”

Stiles winced. “If I haven’t been fair to my werewolf citizens, I-”

“Novak’s kingdom was larger than ours,” he said. “The smaller the kingdom, the more familiar we are, that’s all.” He felt badly for making Stiles doubt himself. The unwavering loyalty of the people around him clearly meant he was a good king; from what Derek had seen, he was a fair and kind one, as well.

Stiles hummed. He looked distracted, as if he was lost in thought.

Derek let him be.

 

They made it to the frontlines by the middle of the next day. The war had grown distressingly close to civilian land, but it seemed to have halted progress at the moment.

Laura spotted them first, from astride her war mare, and let out a wounded cry. She shouted at her soldiers to close her position and fled, nearly leaping off her mount.

She stopped beside Derek and practically yanked him out of his saddle to wrap her arms around him. “You’re never leaving the mansion again,” she growled against his neck.

He laughed until he cried.


	18. Chapter 18

Laura led Stiles and Derek back to base camp. Derek saw Scott and another person dealing with a wounded horse and winced. 

“I just can’t believe you’re _alive_ ,” Laura said bluntly as they dismounted near a cluster of tents. “I’m pleased and relieved, obviously, but we thought for sure Steele would have killed you by now. I was...” She shook her head and clenched her jaw, inhaling through her nose. "But he didn't. So I'm glad."

“He had other things in mind,” Derek growled. 

Laura’s brows lifted. 

“He wanted me to use my…skills on the battlefield for him,” Stiles said evenly.

She snorted. “He thought he’d have the Boy King in his pocket? How’d he take it when you told him to go to hell?” 

Stiles grinned. “He chipped my tooth and several other bones took a beating.”

Laura’s eyes widened. “I see. You two should rest.” A crafty smile overtook her face. “General Reyes and Sir Parrish are formidable allies. We’re winning.” 

“I’m ready to get back into it,” Stiles said fiercely.

Derek kept his face impassive, but he knew Laura could hear his heartbeat spike up. 

“Yes, I’m sure you are, Your Majesty. However, your general and knight will be eager to see you, and they don’t need to be distracted at the moment.” 

Stiles frowned briefly. “Alright,” he allowed after a second. “We’ll rest tonight. But tomorrow, I’m joining my soldiers.”

“Of course.” Laura smirked. “Derek, you’ve got a visitor, then you two can get some sleep.”

Derek glanced over his shoulder and got tackled from the side. He and Boyd rolled end over end, wrestling like children, until Boyd finally sat on his chest. 

He grinned down at him. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Me, too.” He twisted, knocking Boyd off him, and stood. He held a hand out.

Boyd took it and let him pull him to his feet. “You look exhausted.”

“It was a long trip.”

He studied his face. Something must have clued him in, because he said, “You should tell me about it. Eventually.” 

He nodded. “After I get some sleep,” he promised. 

“Good.” 

“Derek,” Laura called. “Come here.”

He brushed off his pants and approached. 

She caught him in a tight hug. “I have to get back to the battle. I love you, and if you get kidnapped again, I’m going to be pissed.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll have extra guards stationed nearby to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Thank you. I love you, too. Please be careful,” he added quietly.

She leaned back and grinned. “I’m always careful.”

He rolled his eyes.

She shoved him lightly. “Now go get some sleep.”

“Gladly.”

The tent was set up with both Stiles and Derek’s things. He wondered if that was from necessity or if it had been planned for them. He figured it was most likely that it was easier to move their stuff together.

Stiles didn’t seem to mind; he seemed pleased, actually. “Convenient,” he said lightly. 

Derek managed a short laugh. He stood in the center of the tent and tried to ground himself. This was real. They were back. Steele was dead. 

Stiles sighed and looked at him. “I don’t know if I can sleep.”

He shook his head. “Me neither.” He stepped closer to Stiles, his gaze dipping down before he met his eyes. He tried to project what he wanted, but he probably just looked frustrated, considering the way Stiles’s brows furrowed. He huffed and grabbed Stiles’s shirt, yanking him into a rough, desperate kiss.

Stiles gasped against his mouth; he brought his hands up to cup Derek’s face, thumbs sweeping across his cheekbones. He sighed and let himself be shuffled back toward the sleeping mat, pausing only to search Derek’s face.

Derek leaned in and rubbed their cheeks together. “Please,” he murmured, and Stiles nodded against his throat. 

There was an awkward scramble as Stiles searched his things and Derek stripped, then arranged the pillows the way he wanted them, but it didn’t really matter. They were here, together and whole, and relatively safe, and they wanted each other. Stiles emerged triumphant and flushed with a small jar of oil, eyes gleaming. When Derek laughed, he tackled him to the blankets, pressing kisses all over his face and neck. 

They took their time, unhurried as they rocked together. Stiles rolled his hips and murmured when Derek moaned, hands flexing against the blankets until he grabbed them and folded their fingers together. 

He tilted his head back, baring his throat and fighting for control all at once, eyes squeezed shut. When Stiles pressed a soft, sweet kiss to his jugular, he fell apart, coming in a sudden rush and gasping, “I love you, I love you,” over and over until Stiles sealed their mouths together. 

Stiles pulled back to murmur a response and kissed him again, deep and hard, making his toes curl, before he finished with a gasp.

Derek closed his eyes and fell asleep with Stiles all around him. At least he couldn’t take back what he’d said until he woke up. 

 

Derek woke with a snarl, twisting and pinning down the weight that’d dropped onto him. Stunning pain bloomed on his face, a punch he hadn’t even seen coming.

“Wake _up!_ ” Cora ordered, though she sounded shocked. 

Derek blinked hard, confused; Cora’s face was splattered with blood from his nose.

“Cora,” Laura growled from behind them. “I _told_ you not to wake him up.”

“You didn’t say it was because he contracted _rabies_ ,” she snapped. 

Derek rolled off of her, rubbing his face. He heard Laura stomp over; there was a brief scuffle as she dragged Cora outside. 

“You don’t startle someone who was kidnapped and held prisoner for almost three weeks,” Laura snarled. “Derek and King Stilinski were being tortured. Derek’s going to be jumpy and he doesn’t need you freaking him out.”

Derek swallowed thickly, flexing his hands. His nose healed, leaving him feeling guilty. He’d nearly strangled Cora, who’d just been happy to see him.

“— _know_ he’d been tortured, I just thought Steele wanted a ransom.” 

“Then listen to me next time,” Laura snapped impatiently. “There’s a _reason_ I tell you to do things a certain way.”

Derek looked around; Stiles wasn’t in the tent with him. His heart squeezed as he remembered the night before, Stiles murmuring, “I love you, too,” against Derek’s mouth. He probably hadn’t meant it. He’d most likely just been speaking in the heat of the moment. But for a moment, Derek had believed him. 

Cora came back in, looking chastised. “Sorry for jumping on you.”

“That’s okay. Sorry for trying to choke you.”

Her mouth curved. “Your boyfriend is having breakfast.” She twisted her hands in her shirt. “Did you—did Steele really torture you?”

“Yeah.” He looked away. “How’s everything here?”

Cora flopped on the blankets beside him, wrinkling her nose slightly but refraining from commenting on the scent. “Pretty good. The fight shifted further in than we wanted, but that was only because we were organizing. General Reyes is a total badass.” 

“Yes, she is.”

“Parrish sorta lost it when Stilinski turned out to be missing, but he got it together quick enough. Boyd wanted to go after you, but Laura wouldn’t let him.”

“Oh?”

She shook her head. “She said since you were with the Boy King, you would be fine, and that she needed Boyd here.” She bit her lip. “Was that…did he help you escape?”

“Yes. He’s the only reason I _could_ escape.” 

She nodded. “Okay. Then I’m glad you two are together.” She grinned at him.

Derek rolled his eyes and tackled her in a hug.

 

Stiles was speaking to General Reyes and Sir Parrish when Derek finally left the tent, fully dressed. They all looked as serious and official as ever, but even from afar, the relief on all sides was palpable.

Boyd waylaid him on his way to them. “Where are you going?”

Derek lifted a brow. “To talk to them…?”

“You should be packing.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t been looking forward to this. “Right. I’m not going home,” he said swiftly, hoping to make it easier.

Boyd gaped for a full thirty seconds. He inhaled sharply. “What?” His voice was amazingly even.

“I’m staying. I want to help.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because at least I’ll know, if I’m here!” Derek shrugged, forcing himself to calm down. “I can help.”

“How?” Boyd crossed his arms. “You aren’t combative.”

“I can be,” he said quietly, remembering the hunter whose neck he snapped without a thought. So easy. One second, alive, the next, dead and in the dirt. 

“But you don’t _have_ to be. Everyone here is trained for this.” He glared. “Queen Talia wants you home.”

Derek shrugged. “I don’t want to.” He stepped around while Boyd was still chewing on that and went to Stiles. 

He glanced up and nodded, then looked at General Reyes. “I’m glad it’s going well, but you and I both know we do better together. I will be joining you on the battlefield.”

Reyes’s mouth twisted. She bit out, “Yes, sir.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” Stiles nodded to both of them and stepped back. 

Derek waited by an empty table until Stiles approached him. “You woke up early.”

“I usually do. I thought you could use more sleep, or I would have woken you up.”

“Cora did the honors,” he said dryly, smiling when Stiles laughed. He would just skip the details. “How were General Reyes and Sir Parrish?”

Stiles sighed, the white puff of his breath partially obscuring his face. “Relieved that I was alive. Furious about Steele, but they calmed down when I told them he was dead.” He smirked. “General Reyes is easily appeased by blood.” He moved his shoulders. “How about Sir Boyd? I’m surprised he doesn’t have you packing already.”

“He wants me to,” Derek murmured.

“What time are you leaving? I’d like to say goodbye first.”

He took a shallow breath and met his gaze. “I’m not. I want to stay here and help.”

Stiles’s face froze, but his heart started pounding. “I understand why you want to,” he began. “But it isn’t a good idea. All three possible heirs to the Hale throne shouldn’t be on the battlefield, and of the three, you are the least equipped to fight.”

Derek clenched his fists at his sides. “But I can’t just sit at home. Besides, _you_ have no heir, and you’re here.”

Stiles stared at him. “I’m a better fighter than you.”

“I believe I’m a quick learner,” he said between his teeth.

That was the wrong thing to say; understanding lit Stiles’s eyes, followed by sadness. “You aren’t a killer, Derek,” he said gently. “And no one is asking you to be.” 

He sighed. “I _am._ I killed a person. I didn’t even have a weapon—I am a weapon.”

Stiles took a long, slow breath. “Okay. Imagine how you felt right after that, but dozens more times. Over and over, that shock and horror, so many times you start forgetting their faces.” He smiled wanly when Derek cringed. “That isn’t who you are, so don’t try to force it.” He stepped closer. “Please, go home,” he whispered. “It’ll be good for your kingdom, for your people to see their prince home safe from the Boy King’s lair.” His mouth twisted into a bitter smile.

Derek shook his head. “I don’t want to be home safe when you all might die.”

“I know.” Stiles looked down and drew in a deep, fortifying breath. Then he met his gaze, an unusually solemn expression on his face. “I love you, and I want you to go home where you’ll be safe.”

Derek stared back at him blankly. He knew his mouth was open, just enough to feel the cold air on his front teeth, but he couldn’t seem to move.

Stiles continued, “I wanted to tell you before, but so much has been going on. It’s never felt like the right time. But you deserve to know that I’m in love with you, too. And we _will_ have time after all of this is done to discuss our relationship.”

He finally managed to close his mouth and swallow, struggling against his dry throat. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, strangled.

Stiles’s eyes brightened with relief. “Yeah. No point in keeping secrets after last night.”

Derek took his face in his hands and kissed him, pouring as much love and relief as he could into it. He felt Stiles’s hands open and close in the front of his shirt, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

Someone cleared their throat beside them.

Derek let go reluctantly and eased back, licking his lips.

Laura looked exasperated. “Derek, you’ve just broken about twenty hearts by making it _very_ clear you’re unavailable,” she said dryly.

Stiles muffled a laugh. “What?”

“She’s speaking gibberish, ignore her.”

She looked at Stiles. “I assume Derek never mentioned that most of our citizens are only interested in the royal family so they can ogle the prince?”

“That isn’t true!” But he definitely noticed some Hale soldiers watching them looking bereft and glaring at Stiles.

Stiles laughed. “I’m not surprised.”

Derek covered his face.

“Anyhow, Derek, your escort home is ready when you are.” Laura clasped the back of his neck and brought their foreheads together, just shy of painful. Just like her personality. “Be safe.”

“You too.” His throat felt tight. “Don’t die.”

She flashed fangs when she grinned. “I plan to _win_.”

 

Derek packed quickly. Cora brought Mercury to him with a sad frown on her face. They’d grown close while he was gone.

“But she should go home with you,” Cora said firmly, as if to convince herself. “She’s not made for war.” She swallowed and kissed Mercury’s muzzle.

Derek sighed helplessly. “She’ll be there when you return, I promise.” 

“I know.” Cora dragged her boot through the dirt, huffed loudly, and asked, “Will _you_ be there?”

“What?” He snorted. “Of course.”

“So you won’t be going to live with King Stilinski?”

Derek fumbled his coat. “ _What_? Why—I have—we haven’t spoken…”

She nodded, dropping her gaze. “I don’t know what I was thinking was going to happen, you know? But I guess I just…figured Laura would take Mom’s place, and I’d be general, and then you’d take Uncle Peter’s place, and we’d all always be together.”

Derek rolled his eyes and tried for a light tone when he said, “Oh, please. Do you think Peter would really give up a job that entitles him to give people his opinions on their choices?”

Cora snorted. “Yeah, no, I guess not.” She shrugged. “Why’d you have to go and fall in love with someone so far away?”

“Was _everyone_ listening?” he demanded, flushing red.

“Psh, no, why would I want to eavesdrop on you?” she sneered. “It’s so easy to see. You just…something is _different_ , lighter, when you see him or talk about him. I don’t know. It’s mushy and gross.” 

Derek tackled her; she bit his arm, drawing blood, and shoved him off.

She was smiling. “Whatever happens, I’m glad you’re happy, and I’ll rip out his liver barehanded if he hurts you.” She rolled to her feet and left, satisfied with her strange but heartfelt goodbye. 

Mercury rolled over for belly rubs, which delayed packing another twenty minutes or so.

 

It was midevening by the time they were ready to leave. Stiles dragged Derek behind the carriage and kissed him until his knees shook. He winked, kissed him again, and promised to finish what he’d started when he was done with the war.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Derek breathed against his ear, and smirked when he felt him shudder. 

He leaned back and grinned, vicious and arrogant. “I shouldn’t be long.”

Laura rolled her eyes at them when they emerged, but she no longer looked rigidly disapproving. She hugged Derek, told him to be safe, and stepped back.

Sir Parrish surprised him by clamping a hand on his arm. “Thank you,” he said seriously. He didn’t elaborate. “Safe travels.”

Boyd shot Derek a mock-alarmed look that almost made him laugh.

Cora hugged Mercury and messed up Derek’s hair, then pretended to punch him just to see him try to block it. She laughed. “Love you.” She kissed his cheek and bounced over to hug Boyd. 

Stiles stepped forward to say his public goodbye. He surprised him by taking his hand. “Safe travels, Your Highness. I’ll see you soon.”

“I—thank you, Your Majesty.”

He smirked, eyes gleaming mischievously as he pressed a light, chaste kiss to Derek’s knuckles and backed away, leaving him flushed. 

General Reyes offered him a curt nod, a smirk teasing the edges of her mouth.

Derek thought that was quite heartfelt from her.

They left soon after. Derek felt instantly that he’d made a mistake, even though he knew everyone else was right. He wasn’t a warrior. He belonged back home. 

Boyd sighed quietly. He was petting Mercury’s back absently, his scent sad and lonely. He was gazing out the window.

Derek thought if he could get a glimpse of himself, he’d find quite a similar picture. “Who is it?” he asked softly.

Boyd sighed again, eyes closing like he was afraid of sharing. “General Reyes.” 

Derek dropped his gaze. Here he was acting reckless and trying to put himself in danger to stay with the one he loved while Boyd was putting his duty first even while in a similar position. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“It’s okay.” He tried to smile, though he didn’t look away from the window. “At least we won’t have to suffer alone.”

“Right.” At least their misery would be in good company.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 thank you for your comments, and thank you [rozurashii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rozurashii//) for catching all my nonsense.
> 
>  **Edit:** Hi, yeah. This has been super fun but...In this fic, I wrote Talia and Laura to be reserved and dedicated to their country. To me that is just a different kind of affection than the usual bubbling and loud affection that I write. However, I can understand how that would seem cold to some people. If you don't like it, please just don't read the fic. I wrote them to be dutiful and reserved and to put their kingdom first. If that bothers you, you don't have to read this. I appreciate comments but at this point I'm dreading posting chapters rather than looking forward to sharing, which is depressing as fuck.

Arriving home was like letting out a long-held breath. Derek hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it until the moment he was stepping up the worn, stone terrace, breathing in the scent of forest and the pack, sunk deep into the wood and stone of the Hale mansion.

Boyd stayed a step behind Derek as they entered, pausing in the foyer to wipe their boots.

Talia cleared her throat. “I believe it’s polite to greet your queen before anything else.”

Derek spun around and felt tension flow out of his shoulders. “Mom.” He crossed to her in three quick steps, and put his arms around her as soon as he could reach. He breathed in her scent and squeezed his eyes shut.

She hugged him back just as fiercely, rubbing her hand up and down his back. “I’m so glad you’re home safe.” She leaned away and smiled at him, thumbing his cheek. An expression of profound sadness crossed her face, but she cleared it quickly, as if it’d never been. “Well. Let’s go see your father. He’s missed you.” She looked over at Boyd and grinned. “How’ve you faired?”

He grimaced. “As well as I can, having to chase after Derek.”

Talia’s brows arched. “You had to chase Derek?”

“You’d be surprised.”

Derek looked down, ashamed, when she looked at him as if she’d never heard of something so ridiculous. 

“We’ll talk about it,” she decided. “Let’s go.” She gestured at them to follow her, then set off. 

Oliver and Peter were waiting in the dining room, arguing over what sounded like a game of chess. 

The table was set with a small selection of plates, clearly meant just for the pack. Talia popped Peter over the head with the heel of her hand. “Stop arguing about that game, you lost three days ago.” She sat at the head of the table. 

“I did not _lose_ ,” Peter seethed. 

“Derek!” Oliver nearly knocked his chair over as he stood.

Derek met him in the middle, almost tackling him as they collided. The pack had always been close, of course, and tactile, but Derek had never been away for so long before. He’d missed his parents, he’d missed being home. 

“Missed you, kid.” He leaned back, hands still on Derek’s shoulders. “You look tired. You’re going right to bed after we eat, I don’t care that you have to unpack.” He squeezed his shoulders and let go. “Also, who’s your friend?”

Derek followed his gaze and smiled, spotting Mercury hovering in the doorway nervously. “A gift from the Boy King.”

Talia made a low, amused noise. “Well, bring her in. We’ll get her a bowl.” 

Derek cajoled Mercury into the room until she sat beside Talia’s chair and rolled onto her back.

Talia snorted and leaned down to stroke her belly. “Sweet girl.” 

Derek felt eyes on him and looked up.

Peter was watching him. He hadn’t said anything when they’d walked in, but he continued staring. “Hello, nephew. Welcome home.”

“Thanks, Uncle Peter. Hi.” He sat down at his usual place and pulled a plate toward himself. “Where’s Isaac?”

“He’s out with Evelyn, buying some ingredients for the welcome home dinner he’s planning for you in a couple days.” Talia smiled. “He’s thrilled you’re home. He was worried.”

“We all were,” Oliver said. “How was the trip?”

Derek glanced around the table. “The trip here was uneventful, at least.” 

Peter lifted a brow.

“I don’t know how much Laura told you of our delay,” he said delicately. 

Oliver tensed.

Talia raised her hand. “She keeps us well updated," she said with just as much caution as he had. "Is there something more we need to know?”

“Nothing urgent.”

“Then it can wait until after we’ve eaten and you’ve gotten some rest.” She set her hand down and tipped her head at everyone until they nodded. 

Derek answered the gentle questions they had as well as he could without alarming them.

Peter, to his surprise, didn’t have any questions; he ate and watched Derek with narrowed eyes. 

It was barely past sunset when Derek went to his room and fell face first into his bed, but that didn’t matter; he passed out immediately. 

 

“It’s been so quiet with all three of you gone,” Isaac said. He was helping Derek unpack, mostly because he’d woken Derek up and felt bad for it. “I thought you’d be back a lot earlier, but Her M—um, Talia hasn’t said why you were late.” He glanced up cautiously.

Derek concentrated on folding pants, trying not to smile; it’d been a few years, but Isaac still hadn’t gotten in the habit of calling Talia by name, the way she so often reminded him to. “There were complications.” He hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to his parents about it yet, so he wasn’t sure if he should discuss it with anyone else yet. 

Isaac nodded. “I thought so. I was surprised Boyd didn’t drag you back single-handedly after you got to the frontlines.”

“He tried.”

Isaac snorted and pulled a pile of shirts from Derek’s suitcase. He lifted one and froze.

Derek glanced up. “Oh, that—that’s not-” But he couldn’t explain it away. Stupidly, he’d packed the shirt he’d been wearing while Deucalion had him captive. No amount of washing would remove the bloodstains or the rips. 

“I guess this was a complication?” he murmured.

“Yes.” Derek gently took the shirt and tossed it into the bin next to his desk. “So how has Uncle Peter been? I’m sure he’s anxious to hear about all the ways I embarrassed us.” 

“Probably.” Isaac visibly shook off his concern. “He’s mostly been talking to Talia and I _think_ planning escape routes.” He shrugged. “He didn’t seem that concerned about you, once we received word that the Boy King would help.”

“I see.” Derek finished putting his clothes away and dropped onto his bed. He’d slept heavily the night before; a byproduct, most likely, of sleeping outside or chained to a wall for weeks. He’d missed his _bed_ , which made him feel guiltily materialistic. 

Mercury huffed and jumped on next to him, burying her nose under his arm. 

After a moment, Isaac joined them on the bed. “I think they want you to meet with people.”

“Oh?”

He nodded. “There was a lot of talk that you’d been killed or held hostage by the Boy King or that Queen Argent had killed you on your way home.”

“Hmm.”

“So they’ll want to see you themselves.”

He nodded. “I know. I’ll meet with them as soon as Mom gives me the word.”

They lapsed into companionable silence for a while, before Isaac muttered about helping Evelyn in the kitchen and had to go.

Derek waited a few minutes before leaving his room with Mercury on his heels. He went to the library, by far the biggest room in the mansion, and just stood in the doorway for a moment. The scents were all the same, if a bit staler than usual. Dust and ink, paper, Derek himself, and faint whiffs of the rest of the pack, though they rarely used it. They all read lightly, to unwind, but none of them as much as Derek.

Mercury zeroed in on his favorite chair and rushed to it, bumping her nose all along the edges before climbing in and curling up.

Peter emerged from between some shelves. “Hello.”

Derek lifted his brows. “You’ve gotten more dramatic since I left.”

“I’ve always been exactly this dramatic.” He looked at Mercury. “You shouldn’t let your dog on the furniture.” 

“It’s my chair.” 

He shrugged. “How was your trip?”

“Fine. It worked out for us, like you wanted.” Derek had the sudden thought that Peter _knew_ somehow, about him and Stiles. But that couldn’t be—neither of his sisters would’ve told him, and Boyd certainly wasn’t going to.

“Yes.” Peter continued staring at him, like he was searching his soul. 

Derek stared back. “Did you need something?”

“Your mother would like to speak to you. She and your father are in her study.” He tipped his head. “Did the Boy King agree to help us because you’re sleeping with him?”

Derek recoiled. “Peter! No!”

“Just checking.” He looked suspicious. “How did you convince him?”

“He didn’t really…need convincing?” He shrugged. “He fought me, then heard what I had to say and agreed to help.”

“He _fought_ you?” Peter demanded, disturbed. 

“Yes, and it was every bit as pathetic as you’d expect.” Derek rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you later. I’m going to talk to Mom.”

Mercury crept past Peter to follow him out of the room.

Talia and Oliver were talking when Derek arrived; they stopped abruptly. 

He smiled awkwardly. “Should that concern me?”

Talia shrugged. “Queen Argent is fighting dirty. People are getting nervous.” 

“They should expect that from her,” he muttered.

She hummed. “Have a seat. We have only the barest of details from Laura about your misadventures. It was her strident faith in King Stilinski that kept your father from haring off after you. ”

“Oh.” He sat carefully, feeling as though he’d walked into an ambush. “Well, it’s not…there isn’t anything that’s going to cause problems.”

Oliver leaned forward. “Tell us anyway.”

So he told them about his weeks with Steele. 

By the time he finished, he was exhausted and wrung out all over again, and Talia was on her feet, pacing like a caged animal.

“Good!” she seethed when he told her Stiles had killed him. “Good! I hope he ripped him limb from limb!”

“He pretty much did,” he muttered. 

“Talia,” Oliver murmured. He swept a hand down her back, attempting to calm her. He looked more shaken than furious.

She took a deep breath. “Right.” She breathed for a moment, until her shoulders relaxed and the flush of rage faded from her face. “Well, we were going to have a public lunch, but if you aren’t up for it, Derek, we _completely_ understand.”

He shook his head. “I’m fine. I can do it.” He shrugged. “Anything to keep my mind off the war.”

She nodded, but that sad expression crossed her face again, confusing him. “Alright. We’ll begin preparations. People will have questions,” she said, and began outlining what was appropriate to share and when he was to pass on questions.

 

The following few days passed in a blur of meetings with citizens and distant family members. Every now and then, he heard a whisper of Argent’s dishonorable war tactics, but he was quick to turn away from those rumors. He had enough to worry about. Thankfully, as many people who were worrying, there were equally as many people in awe of the Boy King and his general as they fought back both Argent and Calavera forces.

It was during a goodwill lunch Derek’s sixth day home that the message arrived. He was speaking to a couple who needed supplies for the school they ran when conversations around them went hushed. 

“Of course,” Derek finished. “Of course, we’re always eager to fund education. Whatever you need.”

The man bowed. “Thank you, Your High…ness…” His gaze tracked something over Derek’s shoulder. 

Two men wearing Argent crests were being escorted by Hale knights through the crowd. 

“A message for Her Majesty Queen Talia Hale,” one of them announced. 

A man near Derek shifted onto the balls of his feet, his heart pounding. 

Derek automatically put an arm out, muttering, “Wait,” in the kingdom’s native language.

The man glanced at him.

He didn’t look away from the two messengers. 

Talia approached; several knights went with her. “And what is the message?”

“Her Majesty Queen Katherine Argent wishes to extend an armistice, provided she is permitted to speak to you directly about possible treaties and resolutions.”

Talia’s brows raised.

Beside her like a shadow, Peter leaned in and murmured something.

Her expression tightened. “Yes. We will have her here, to speak about ending this war.” 

The man beside Derek swore.

The Argent messengers executed shallow bows. “We will pass along the message, Your Majesty.”

Everyone watched as they were escorted out. As soon as they were gone, chatter erupted.

Anxiety curled in Derek’s chest. Nothing Argent wanted could be good. He glanced to the side, but the man who’d been next to him was gone. He forced his fear aside and turned to the next person wanting to speak to him.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy! It's my birthday, so don't leave mean comments okay? Let's just leave if we don't like it?  
> And for everyone who left very sweet, supportive messages, thank you so much. <3

The war was halted. Derek tried to imagine Cora and Laura’s faces upon receiving the orders. He guessed “apoplectic rage” didn’t really cover it. He was still reeling over Talia agreeing to meet her, even a couple days later.

Talia, Peter, and Oliver were in Talia’s study most of the time, so Derek was left trying to understand _why_ they would agree to something so outrageous. 

The night Argent was set to arrive, Derek found himself too restless to sit still. He set Mercury loose in Boyd’s room with a plate of bacon grease, thoroughly distracting him, and stole out to the garden.

The entire mansion was bustling with activity, beefing up security in preparation for Argent’s arrival, which made the garden an enticingly peaceful spot, despite the cold.

Several knights nodded to him as he passed, so at least someone knew where he would be.

The air was cold and blessedly free of tension. He walked away from the door, heading for some hardy plants that would block him from sight. He just wanted to _breathe_ for a while, away from the frantic bustle of guards, from the mounting tension the closer it got to Argent’s arrival. He sat between some bushes and sighed. 

Nothing good could come of Argent’s visit. She _certainly_ wasn’t going to surrender to them, and Derek saw no reason for her to call an armistice unless she thought she could get her way faster by doing it.

There was no way Talia would give up her kingdom willingly, especially not to Argent. If she thought it would be better for everyone, if she could save lives…yes. But an Argent in the Hale throne was like unleashing a fox in a hen house. They would kill all werewolf citizens. 

Derek pressed his face into his knees. He didn't realize how loudly he was breathing until someone crouched beside him; he hadn’t heard them approach. He lifted his head and frowned.

The man was vaguely familiar: tired blue eyes, short gray and blond hair. “Your Highness,” he greeted grimly.

Derek straightened from his protective hunch, feeling ridiculous. “Sir. Can I help you? Are you lost?”

“No.” He shifted forward on the balls of his feet. “Listen to me. This is urgent and we only have so much time. Do not let your queen cede the throne to Kate.” 

Derek jerked away. “Who _are_ you?” he growled.

“We don’t have time, she’s almost here. Listen: if Queen Hale gives in to _any_ of Kate’s demands, everyone in your kingdom will be killed.” 

“You’re awfully familiar with Queen Argent.”

The man sighed harshly. “She’s my sister. My family and I left the continent after my father made Kate the heir. She recently sent someone to kill my daughter to ensure no one came after her throne.” He yanked a knife out of his boot.

Derek braced, but the man just held the handle out to him. He stared at it.

“Kill her before she can kill you. Once she’s dead, I’ll take the throne and pull the soldiers back. I’ll turn them on the Calaveras if it comes to that.”

“Why don’t _you_ do it?”

His jaw flexed. “She’d never let me get that close. She’s known since she tried to kill my daughter that I’m after her.”

“If I kill her, that kingdom is rightfully ours. What makes you think I won’t take it?”

He lifted his free hand. “I’m trusting you to turn it over to me, just like you’ll have to trust me to remove the soldiers.”

But if he said _no_ , and Talia said no, and Argent kept coming, and people _died_ —he would know he’d had a chance to stop it. He tried to imagine what Stiles would say. 

_No mercy._

“I’ll do it, if I feel it’s necessary. If—if it seems there’s no other way. And if I see an opening.”

He nodded stiffly. “Fine. Here. If you can get behind her, try to hit her spine and twist. The closer to the brain, the better.” 

Derek took the knife. The handle had a purple Argent crest, rather than the usual silver. He lifted a brow.

“It’s changed some, but the blade is sharp.”

“What’s your name?”

The man looked wary. “Chris.” He looked over his shoulder and swore. “She’s here. Good luck, Your Highness.” He stood and vaulted the bushes, disappearing into the trees. 

Derek shook his head and stood. He went back inside after tucking the knife into his boot and out of sight. 

Boyd was waiting for him, frowning. “If you _wanted_ some air, why didn't you just _say so?_ ”

“Would you have followed me outside?”

His frown twisted deeper, jaw ticking. 

“ _That’s_ why I didn’t say so.”

Boyd sighed. “Fine. Your mother wants you to get changed.”

“Why?”

He grinned. “She said if she had to dress up, so do you.” Boyd practically frog marched him to his room.

Derek groaned. “I hate dressing up. Why is it necessary?”

Isaac was in there, feeding Mercury bits of meat. “This meeting is a bad idea. Why did Talia agree?” He gave Mercury another piece and looked at Derek anxiously. 

He shook his head. “Maybe to see what Argent wants. She’s not the type to call an armistice out of goodwill. Mom will want to know her motives.” He shrugged. “Also, I think Peter told her to accept.”

Isaac shuddered. “This is so bad.”

“It’ll be fine.” Derek didn’t really think he believed that, but he had a habit of reassuring Isaac. He scowled at the suit Boyd pulled out of the closet. “I’m not wearing that.”

“Oh, yes you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Her Majesty specifically ordered me to get this one out and put you in it if need be. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

“What’s the hard way?”

“I tell your mother you’re being stubborn and she becomes disappointed in you.”

Derek grumbled but he put the suit on. Somehow, through sheer luck, he managed to keep Boyd and Isaac from seeing the knife. “I don’t want to meet with her,” he growled. 

“We don’t want you to, either.” Isaac grinned weakly. “Maybe she’s come to ask for mercy from the Boy King.” 

Derek snorted. “Stiles doesn’t show his enemies mercy.”

Isaac gaped at him. “ _Who?_ ”

He blinked, then flushed. “King Stilinski, I mean.”

“You—call the—Boy King— _Stiles?_ ”

“I did spend quite a while at his palace,” Derek murmured. He turned around to do up the buttons of his jacket.

Isaac hummed like he didn’t believe him.

Boyd didn't say anything, which Derek appreciated.

 

The dining room was set up lavishly, as was considered polite by human customs. 

Derek didn’t get it, but he guessed humans liked it to appear that their hosts had gone all out for their visit.

“Remember what I said,” Peter was telling Talia. “And don’t give her _anything_.”

“Yes, I know.” Talia smoothed a hand down the front of her blouse, grimacing at it. She glanced up at Derek. “I’m sorry you have to be here. You should be resting.”

“It’s alright, Mom. I’ll have time to rest later.”

She sighed. “It _isn’t_ alright. But it will be over soon.”

Argent was wearing an overly adorned silver dress when she arrived, her hair curled and set elaborately. Dinner was an awkward affair, but etiquette demanded they do this over a meal.

Derek was pretty sure they were all pretending to eat; he certainly didn’t have an appetite, and he’d seen Oliver lift the same piece of beef to his mouth at least three times.

Talia actually ate, or she made a very good show of it. “I assume you haven’t extended this armistice because you decided this war was pointless, Queen Argent.”

“Not quite.” She smiled. “I want to merge our kingdoms.”

Talia stared at her for a long moment. “That seems…sudden.”

“If we merged, I would of course withdraw my army, and Calavera would, as well. It would stop a lot of unnecessary violence.”

Derek narrowed his eyes. She said that as if she wasn’t the one inflicting the violence. 

“My advisors-”

“We could merge through marriage,” Argent cut in.

Talia’s eyes tightened ever so slightly. “My advisors will have to weigh in on the possibility of a merging. That isn’t easy or, to be blunt, desired by the kingdom.”

Argent looked annoyed that she’d ignored her interruption. “We could merge with a marriage,” she bit out. She took a breath and smiled sweetly. “It’s a viable option, I believe, since,” she said innocently, “your son is eligible and not your direct heir.” 

Derek stiffened and glanced involuntarily at his parents.

Talia looked coolly assessing; Oliver’s face was perfectly blank, keeping any of his thoughts on the subject hidden. 

The knife in Derek’s boot felt cold against his ankle.

“That’s an option,” Talia said. “I need to speak to my advisors before making any decisions, of course.”

Kate’s smile widened. “Of course.”

After dinner, Kate was shown to a sitting room while the Hales gathered in Talia’s study. 

“Absolutely _not!_ We are not marrying Derek off to a murderous _hunter,_ ” Oliver seethed as soon as the door was shut.

“Of course not,” Talia snapped. “But if—if we lose, she’ll take our land anyway. People will die. An amicable merger—without a royal marriage—could work. We may have to go through with it to save lives.”

But it wouldn’t. Derek looked down. He couldn’t help remembering what Chris had said in the garden, how Kate would kill all the werewolf citizens. 

“Peter,” Talia barked. “What do you think?”

“I think…you should ask Derek.” 

His head snapped up. “What?”

Peter leaned against the edge of Talia’s desk. “Derek, you spent more time at the frontlines than any of us here, and you stayed with the Boy King for weeks. Do you think we have a chance?”

He looked at Talia, conflicted. This wasn’t where he was supposed to be. He wasn’t a strategist, or in any way the person meant to judge what the outcome of a _war_ might be. He just wanted his books and maps back. This was—too much. 

“Just tell us your opinion,” Talia said. “We’ll decide from there.”

He swallowed. “Okay. In my opinion, King Stilinski has the reputation that he has for a good reason. He, Ito, Cora, and Laura can handle Calavera and Argent. I think merging with Argent will result in more death than the war.”

Talia studied him for a moment. “Yes, I believe you’re right. Peter?”

He nodded. “Argent’s offer was never a good option. If Derek was faith in the Boy King, so do I.”

 

Argent was _not_ pleased by their refusal. She visibly pulled herself together, though, perhaps noticing she was outnumbered “I see. Well, far be it for me to lecture beasts on peaceful resolution.” She nodded and allowed herself and her personal guards to be escorted out and off the property. 

Derek let out a long breath when she was gone. 

Talia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Thank you all for sitting through that. I’m going to send updated orders to Laura, and keep Satomi in the loop.”

Oliver clapped Derek on the shoulder. “You okay?”

“What? Yes.”

“You’ve looked nervous.”

“I didn’t want to have to marry Kate Argent.” He shuddered. 

Oliver snorted. “Yes, I can imagine. We wouldn’t have done that,” he said more gently.

“Unless it truly would have saved civilian lives.” Derek offered a small smile. “I know.”

Oliver gave him a brief, firm hug, squeezing the back of his neck. “Go get some sleep. Your mother has been talking, and she’s found a doctor for you.”

Derek reared back. “A doctor for me? Why?”

“You need to speak to someone, Derek,” he said solemnly. “It's very common practice. Cora and Laura often speak with a physician when they return from battle.”

“About _what?_ ”

“Everything you’ve been through. The torture, the frontlines. We thought it might be easier to talk about it with someone who isn’t related to you.” 

“I’m _fine,_ ” he said stiffly.

“Good, then I’m sure the meeting will be a breeze. Don’t argue,” he added sharply. “It’s non-negotiable.”

Derek swallowed back his protests. “Alright.”

Oliver nodded. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Derek turned on his heel and just barely resisted stomping all the way back to his room. 

Isaac and Boyd were lying in wait; Isaac practically pounced on him when he was fully in the room. “What took so long? Evelyn wouldn’t let me help with dinner, I swear I thought she was going to poison Queen Argent.”

“She didn’t. Argent wanted to merge our kingdoms. She said she’d stop the war if we did.” He inhaled and continued, “She proposed a marriage between us to make the merger.”

Isaac and Boyd just stared at him, apparently muted by horror.

“Mom and Peter decided against it, since there would certainly be more civilian deaths if we merged with Argent.”

“Good,” Boyd sighed. 

Isaac looked anxious. “Do you think Laura and Cora can handle it? Even with Queen Ito’s help…”

“They’ve also got King Stilinski and his army,” Boyd reminded him quickly. “I think they’ll do it.”

“Queen Argent isn’t exactly known for her honorable tactics,” Isaac pointed out. “She probably ordered her soldiers to start attacking again once a day or two had passed, whether they received orders to do so or not.”

Derek grimaced as fear clutched his stomach. “I’m sure they’ll be ready for it.” They had to be; Stiles wouldn’t trust Kate Argent’s word.

“Right. You haven’t seen Stilinski’s army, it’s huge, and they’re pretty badass.”

Boyd, Isaac, and Mercury all stayed in Derek’s room that night, piled on the bed with him in a warm heap. Despite this, Derek found himself wide awake, late into the night.

He couldn’t think about how his sisters and Stiles were doing, if they were braced for a sneak attack or if they’d relaxed in the face of the armistice, or he’d freak out. So instead he fixated on what he could handle: Oliver’s announcement. 

He couldn’t believe his parents were choosing a therapist _for_ him without even talking to him first. He thought, given his experiences, that he’d been handling everything pretty well. He frowned in the dark. They thought he was incapable of handling it, or of deciding for himself if he needed to speak to a doctor.

He may not have been as battle-ready as Laura or Cora, but he wasn’t helpless. He rolled off the bed, stroking Mercury’s ears to keep her from following him.

He’d just go talk to his mother…like an adult. He _didn’t_ need a therapist. He paused by the door to put his boots on; the floors were freezing. He jumped when something cold touched his ankle. He bent for a closer look and found the knife Chris had given him still tucked away. He’d forgotten. He scoffed at himself, but he left it there anyway, letting the cool metal of the blade rest against his skin. 

The halls were sparsely furnished, the walls adorned with portraits, framed hand-drawn pictures, and oil lamps. His favorite picture was from when Cora was three; she’d been given an array of paints to use, which she’d promptly smeared all over her face and then smushed it to the paper. 

Talia’s study door was shut, giving him a pause. She normally only closed it when she was in a meeting. 

Derek crept closer, just enough to hear the murmur of voices, and stepped back. He could come back in the morning-

Something crashed and shattered, but there were no raised voices or any indication that something was…wrong.

Derek listened.

“ _Tsk._ That’s too bad, that was a nice glass. What did you expect? Someone would hear the broken glass and run to your aid? Pathetic, really, for an alpha.”

He felt his heart slam against his ribs. He pulled the knife from his boot and crept toward the door, taking shallow breaths through his mouth. He forced himself to pause and smell the air.

“We’ve got all night, Your Majesty. That’s why we call this particular cultivar Sunrise Bane. Takes until the sun is up to kill if you dose ’em at the right time, but it’s so satisfying.” 

The door opened silently; Argent didn’t notice. She had her back to him, sitting on Talia’s desk with her legs crossed. 

Talia was on the floor with a shattered tumbler near her hand. Her face was sickly gray, lines of poison spreading from an open wound on her shoulder. 

“You should really get better security—but that doesn’t matter. Once you’re dead, this place is mine.”

Derek’s hand felt clammy around the knife. He couldn’t remember where Chris had said to aim for suddenly. He had a terrific memory, but faced with a moment with dire consequences if he missed, it was failing him. He glanced at his mother, dying on the floor, and steeled his nerve. He didn’t give himself time to think: while Argent was rambling, he lunged forward and sunk the blade into the middle of her back, then twisted.

She screamed, tumbling forward off the desk. She caught herself on the edge, gasping and leaning forward.

Derek had missed her spine, or maybe it just hadn’t killed her. He yanked the knife free just as she twisted around.

She slashed across his face with a knife of her own. 

Derek jerked back.

She slashed again at him again, then swept his legs out from under him. She dropped on top of him, breathing heavily. “We could’ve had some fun, you know.” She smirked, bringing the knife up.

Derek surged to his feet. He was vaguely disappointed when she caught herself instead of falling. He grabbed her shoulder and yanked her close. His knife slid across her throat so smooth and clean he almost thought he’d missed. 

Blood poured down his hands. 

Argent gurgled, her own hands flying to her throat in a vain attempt to stop the blood.

Derek stepped back.

She collapsed. 

Talia rose suddenly, lurching to the desk. She fumbled around, flinging things to the floor until she found a small jar with orange and red flowers in it. She dumped them, grabbed at a lit candle with a shaking hand, and pressed the flame to them. They ignited and left a nice pile of ash. She scooped it up.

Derek barely managed to look away as she pressed it into her wound.

A minute passed. Talia approached and pressed burning ash against the cut on his face. “Thank you.”

“I was coming to tell you,” he hiccupped, “that I don’t—I don’t need therapy.” He lifted his hands, sticky with blood, and stared at them. “I changed my mind.” His fingers twitched. “I think-”

“I know, sweetie. It’s alright.”

“I need to talk to someone.” He couldn’t rip his gaze away from the blood gleaming on his hands.

“Yes. First we have to wash your hands.”

He couldn’t look at her. “I’ll talk to whoever you want.” 

“I know, honey. Come on. We have to wash your hands.”

“I need to—I don’t think I can—”

Talia reeled him in suddenly, holding him while he shook.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the birthday wishes, I really appreciate them <3 Also thank you for your comments! I hope you enjoy this chapter. We're almost to the end!!! :D

Chris Argent was an even-tempered man. He was either ice cold or a very good actor, too. He observed Kate’s body with a perfectly blank expression and thanked the Hales for agreeing to meet with him. 

“I will call off our soldiers, and any who don’t defer will be facing your armies and my own. Calavera should back down once she realizes she’s alone.” 

Talia nodded. “Alright.” She looked good for someone who hadn’t slept and who’d nearly died. “I agree to these terms. Peter will have the contract written up and ready to sign in an hour.”

Chris nodded, as well. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Derek was seated at the table with them, watching but not participating. He hadn’t slept, either, and it showed. He just wanted this meeting, the war, and everything else _over_. He wanted his sisters home, he wanted Stiles back, and he wanted to _sleep_. His eyes burned when he blinked. 

“I wanted to thank you as well, Prince Derek.” Chris held his hand out.

It took him a moment to accept the handshake. “I was just helping my mother.”

“Yes, but you helped me, too. And you listened when you had no reason to. So thank you.”

Derek nodded. He wasn’t sure there was anything else to say—not “you’re welcome”, because he was most certainly _not_ welcome to Derek’s help killing someone ever again—but it felt rude not to say anything. “I’m just glad this will end the war.”

Chris looked relieved. “Me, too.”

Talia cleared her throat. “Derek, you’re excused. Peter and Oliver will be fine as witnesses to the treaty signing.”

He blinked at her as his tired brain struggled to process that. “I’ll just wait until they get here.”

She looked briefly annoyed, but didn’t say anything about it—couldn’t, really, with what had almost happened, just hours ago.

Derek didn’t think he was wrong to be a little paranoid.

 

Peter arrived with Oliver, two knights, and a stack of paperwork an hour later. He looked coldly furious—he hadn’t wanted anything to do with Chris Argent after what Kate had done, and thought Talia should have seized Argent’s land, as was her right. 

Derek hadn’t wanted any part of that argument, but Peter had dragged him into it, considering he was responsible for Kate’s death—murder. Her murder. 

He shuddered when someone touched his arm, but it was just Oliver, prompting him to leave the room. He muttered a thanks and left in a daze. He flexed his hands as he walked. He’d long since washed the blood away, but he could still feel it, coating his palms, dripping thick down his wrists. 

Boyd found him in the hall outside of his room, staring blankly at the wall. “Isaac’s got some soup in here for you, and Mercury’s waiting. Come on. You’ll eat, then sleep.” He ushered Derek into the room; Boyd didn’t seem to care that he wasn’t responding verbally, as long as he was going where directed. 

He ate at his desk while Boyd and Isaac hovered. He didn’t really have an appetite, but he knew they would feel better if he ate it.

“We’ll be right here while you sleep, okay?” Boyd said, once he was done.

He shook his head. “I’m fine. You can do whatever you have to do. I’m just going to sleep,” he added when they glanced at each other. “I’ll have Mercury, and I won’t even know that you’re there.”

Isaac wrung his hands. “We’ll take turns.”

He sighed. “Okay.” He was too tired to argue with them. When he crawled into bed, Mercury joined him, grumbling until he let her under the blankets, too. He pressed his face into her fur and closed his eyes. 

 

Derek ripped himself out of a nightmare with a strangled cry. He pressed his hands to his eyes until they stopped watering. He couldn’t get the images of Talia, already dead when he arrived, out of his head. In his dream, Laura was there, too, dead on the floor, and when he’d cut Kate’s throat, she’d turned into Cora. It made no sense—they weren’t even _there_ —but he couldn’t help the shuddering sobs at the images of his family that his mind had spit out.

He got out of bed, ignoring Mercury’s grumble, and left the room in a daze. It was either midday or early evening. He didn’t look anywhere to find out—he went straight to his parents’ room and crawled into their bed like a child suffering nightmares. He fell back to sleep again with their comforting scents in his nose. 

Sometime later, a disturbance roused him slightly. The door flew open and someone let out a shaky, relieved sigh. “I found him!” Talia shouted. “Let’s leave him,” she added more quietly. She approached the bed and ran her fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” 

He kept his eyes closed and eventually slipped back to sleep.

 

They received the news at breakfast a week later from a breathless Isaac: “Chris Argent has taken the throne—they’re having a funeral for Kate Argent and-” He gulped in air. “He called off his soldiers.” 

Talia’s brows lifted. “Oh, really? Where did you hear this?”

He scoffed. “Market.”

Oliver lifted his head. “Why were you at the market alone? We told you to have everything you need delivered.”

Isaac flushed guiltily. “Yes, and I usually _don’t_ go alone, but there was a shipment of fruits at the docks, and I wanted to make jam for Cora when she gets back.” 

Boyd snickered.

“Thank you for delivering the news, Isaac.” Talia glanced at Peter.

“Per our agreement, we should be receiving a message from Argent within a few days. We should tell Laura to wait, but not let their guard down. We don’t know if that’s his plan.”

She nodded and stood. She smiled apologetically at Derek, Boyd, and Oliver. “Sorry. We’ll be working through breakfast.”

“And lunch,” Peter said as he stood.

“Do you need help?” Derek blurted. He tried not to cringe as everyone turned to face him.

“No, we’ve got it handled. Thank you. You just concentrate on your appointment.” Talia squeezed his shoulder as she passed. 

Derek stared at his plate.

After a few minutes, Oliver asked Isaac what sorts of jams he was planning on making, and Boyd wanted to know why he didn’t get any. 

Derek had a meeting with a therapist soon. They were all still deciding if it was a good fit. Derek was deciding whether he should fight against it or not. He was mostly leaning toward not. He knew he needed it; that wasn’t the problem. He was just frustrated that his parents had done all of this _for_ him, without telling him or asking him. Like he was a child still, biddable and quietly waiting for them to tell him what they expected next. 

Derek gave Mercury the rest of his sausage. “Boyd, after breakfast, do you mind taking her on a walk for me?”

“No problem.” He smiled awkwardly; he’d told Derek already that he thought Talia and Oliver were right, but that he knew Derek felt his own wishes had been ignored. The only other thing he’d said on the matter was that Derek’s nightmares didn’t have to be so bad. 

He didn’t think he understood what Boyd meant until he realized he’d been choking himself on guilt every night. He mostly just wanted things to go back to how they had been.

He thought of Stiles, his sudden, unexpectedly brilliant smile, his mischievous eyes, and his fear that he wasn’t a good king even when any one of his staff was loyal to the end.

Mostly.

 

Dr. Deaton was clearly a very patient man.

Derek hated that.

Oliver had given them his study to use while they talked, promising to return in an hour.

Dr. Deaton didn’t seem to mind that Derek was just staring at him without saying anything. “His Majesty told me you like reading,” he said after about twenty minutes of this. “What genre?”

Derek let the muscles of his jaw unclench enough to say, “All of them.” 

Deaton’s brows lifted. “Right. Any recommendations?”

Derek tried not to smirk. He wanted book information? Well, Derek had plenty of that, and he wouldn’t have to bare his soul to a complete stranger if he spent forty minutes talking about books. 

Deaton didn’t seem too put out by the end of the wasted hour. He told Derek he would be back in two days, spoke to Oliver in the hallway, and left.

Derek didn’t realize until after he’d gone that he hadn’t heard a word they’d said, even though they’d been just outside the door. “What is he?”

Oliver grinned. “Witch, I think. He’s very good.” 

Derek scowled. “All we talked about was books.”

“That’s nice.” He didn’t seem bothered. 

He scowled further. “I don’t think you and Mom should have called for him.”

Oliver’s gaze sharpened. “Why’s that?”

Derek drew himself up. “Because you didn’t ask me if that’s what I wanted! You decided without talking to _me_ about it that that’s what I’d be doing!” 

He hesitated, then nodded, his stance relaxing. He moved slowly to a chair near Derek’s. “You’re right, we shouldn’t have done that, it wasn’t fair. We’re just-” He sighed. “Do you remember when you and Cora accidentally tumbled into that cluster of wolfsbane? How you were both sick for days?”

Derek squinted. “Vaguely…wasn’t I…eight?”

Oliver nodded. “And Cora was six. You all were never really _sick_ as children, obviously, so we’d never had to stand aside, helpless, and let someone else take care of you because we _weren’t_ the best thing for you, until then. You and Cora had to get scrubbed down by the doctors, treated for the poison, and observed for a while to make sure it was all out of your systems. We were out of our minds with worry. You two thought it’d been quite an adventure once you stopped feeling sick.”

Derek shook his head “Okay…?”

“So now you’re hurting again,” Oliver said with a sigh. “And we can’t take the pain away. First your torture by Steele, and then you nearly saw your mother die. You’re having nightmares. So we got ahead of ourselves.” He lifted a hand helplessly. “You’re still our child, but you aren’t _a_ child, which is a very hard distinction to make when someone you love so much is in pain.”

Derek stared at the floor, rolling that information around in his head. “Is that a gift, or a parent thing?” he asked at last.

“What?”

“Making kids feel guilty even when they were right.”

“Oh, that. A gifted parent thing.” Oliver held a hand out until Derek nodded, then reached out and squeezed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty. We shouldn’t have made those decisions without you. Our only excuse is that we were worried and wanted to help.”

Derek sighed. “Alright. Thanks.”

Oliver muffled a laugh. “Lord, you have too much of your uncle in you.”

“I _beg_ your pardon?” he demanded, offended.

Oliver howled with mirth.

Derek was never using manners again.


	22. Chapter 22

Derek waited anxiously on the porch, hands flexing on the railing. They would be here any moment. He was supposed to be inside, mingling with the guests until the honorees had arrived, but—it’d been weeks. The air was softening from deep winter to early spring and it had been far too long. 

Argent and Calavera forces had retreated, per the newly crowned King Christopher’s orders, and any who hadn’t retreated had been taken care of, but it had taken time.

Peter didn’t trust Chris enough to allow Hale forces to return from the border until the Argent soldiers were long gone. Talia had trusted his paranoia.

Derek’s claws pierced the railing. He didn’t even wince, though he knew Peter would lecture him later; the rail had been built by his great-grandmother, by hand, how _dare_ he treat it in any way but reverently? 

At his side, Mercury snuffled at the wood splinters, but didn’t move. She’d been put through obedience training with Peter. She no longer bolted off unprompted, so long as she was allowed to run off some energy throughout the day. 

Derek was a little sad to see her boundless puppy energy fall away, but he had to admit, as big as she had gotten, it could end disastrously, her barreling around.

Plus, trained, she was allowed to accompany Derek to the celebration the kingdom was hosting for the returned soldiers.

Deaton’s idea. She was supposedly good for Derek’s peace of mind or whatever. 

Derek tried to ignore him whenever possible, but Mercury was nice to have around in a crowd. 

He caught his breath. 

An enormous crowd was coming; not nearly as big as it should have been. Stilinski and Ito soldiers had been sent home for their own celebrations.

Talia had wanted to thank them, but relented when both Satomi and Stiles had insisted their soldiers would be happier at home with their families. 

Derek wanted to see Stiles so badly he ached. He’d tried to hide it from his parents, but he was sure they knew he’d missed someone aside from his sisters. 

He wasn’t sure how to tell them he’d fallen in love with the Boy King. 

Deaton seemed to think they’d be happy to know.

He clearly knew nothing, Derek had no idea why they paid him to talk to Derek three times a week.

Except he only had nightmares once a week now, sometimes twice. Whatever.

Mercury whined loudly, her long, slender ears tipped forward. 

Cora came into view first, leaning forward on her horse as they raced for the mansion, dignity be damned.

Derek rolled his eyes and dropped a hand on Mercury’s collar. “You’ll be trampled. Just wait.”

They didn’t have to wait long: Cora saw them and vaulted off her mount’s back, tumbling to the ground gracelessly. She popped to her feet and raced for them. She and Mercury collided in the grass, rolling around like puppies.

Derek shook his head as some poor staff member caught her horse, soothing it quickly. “You’re a menace.”

Cora laughed and got to her feet. She ran up the porch and yanked him into a hug. “You’re supposed to be inside.”

“I couldn’t wait.” He hugged her back, squeezing his eyes shut. “I missed you guys.” 

“We missed you, too, it was awful.” She leaned back. “If we ever have another war, definitely invite your boyfriend, he’s a _beast._ ”

Derek scowled at her. “Don’t _say_ that.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a compliment. Where’s Isaac?”

“Why?”

“Why do you _think?_ ” She leered, making his heart stop. “He has _food_ , and I was promised jam when I returned.”

He let out a breath. “He’s inside with Evelyn, obviously.” 

She brightened. “Awesome.”

Derek wasn’t ready to deal with the fall out when Cora realized what was going on with her and Isaac; if he was bad at feelings, Cora was a disaster. 

Laura and Stiles arrived next, with General Reyes and Sir Parrish just behind them, leading the Hale army home.

Derek’s heart swooped.

Stiles looked proud and fiercely _present_ , his eyes bright and sharp. He had a new scar across his left cheek, _just_ missing his eye, but he looked fit enough.

Laura’s arm was in a sling, which was strange, but she grinned at the sight of him.

Before Derek knew it, everyone had been ushered into the backyard for the party. The mansion was open to everyone, as well, so the party seemed to move and swell in and out of the wide open double doors.

Derek had barely managed to greet Laura, let alone Stiles, before Talia and Oliver had been there, graciously inviting them inside. He wanted to talk to Stiles, to just…be near him, but Laura was talking to him, and he’d missed her, too.

“Derek, lose the face,” she commanded. She smirked. “You’re just going to have to share for a little while longer.” 

His gaze snapped up to hers. “What is that supposed to mean?” He stroked the back of Mercury’s neck.

She shrugged and smiled. “I just mean the rest of the pack wants to meet King Stilinski.”

Derek looked over the crowd and found Stiles speaking to Peter. 

They seemed to be arguing about something, although they both appeared amused rather than annoyed.

“Why—why-”

Laura scoffed. “ _Please_ , do you think they’re blind?”

He blinked at her. “No.” He forced himself to focus. “What happened to your arm?”

She grimaced. “Wolfsbane arrow, _literally_ right before we got here. Some straggler, got caught up in the ranks. Lousy shot. It’s still healing, just slowly.” She studied his face. “You okay?”

“Yes,” he said defensively. “Why?” 

Mercury whined and sat on his foot.

She rolled her shoulders, wincing as her injured one pulled. “I don’t know. I just had this really bad feeling about you when we heard Kate Argent was dead.”

Derek swallowed, even though his throat suddenly felt very tight. “I—yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, that—pretty good instinct.”

“Big sister. Tell me,” she said grimly, bracing as if for a physical blow.

Derek shook his head. “I’m fine.” When she continued to stare at him, he sighed. “You obviously are aware that Kate Argent came here, and Mom told you the details about the original meeting.” He scratched absently at Mercury’s ears, the silky feeling of her fur grounding him.

Laura nodded, still looking grim.

He lowered his voice to avoid being overheard. “Kate returned later in the night, and she—stabbed Mom. With poison—wolfsbane. And I had gotten up to talk to Mom, so I overheard her—Kate—talking and I went in and.” He jerked his shoulders.

Laura looked confused. “And?”

“And I had a knife,” he breathed, hoping no one would hear him. “So I killed her.” 

Mercury pressed back hard against his leg, tipping her head back until he started petting her again.

Laura’s eyes widened. “ _You_ ki-”

“Shh.” He flicked his gaze around at the crowd. 

She nodded and yanked him in by the neck, knocking their foreheads together. “Sorry that you had to do that.”

“Sorry I couldn’t help you guys.”

She looked shocked, letting go and staring at his face. “No one expected you to.”

He nodded, dropping his gaze. “But you were all out there-”

“Yes. We’re all trained. You are not. Don’t ever feel bad for that. We want you here.” She smiled wryly. “Or at home…wherever that is.”

His heart bumped violently in his chest; his gaze shot up, seeking out Stiles in the crowd. 

He was speaking to Oliver this time, his head tipped down just a little.

“I don’t know what you’re—what do you-”

She smirked. “Sure.” She kissed his cheek. “We’ll talk more later.”

“Okay.” He shuffled his feet and let Mercury wander a little bit away, to explore the new people. He didn’t really think he had more to talk about on the subject; he’d told her what’d happened, and he didn’t feel like going into detail.

Laura rolled her eyes and moved away to speak to someone who’d been trying to get her attention subtly. 

A man came to speak to Derek about a charity function they hosted in the summer, every summer, asking if it was still going to happen.

Derek was reassuring him when he noticed Peter _and_ Oliver talking to Stiles at the same time. He shook off his momentary distraction and kept talking. Once he’d finished, he’d lost sight of Stiles in the crowd.

Cora poked his arm. “Stop looking so lost, he’s around somewhere.”

“I was just…concerned. He was talking to Dad and Peter a few minutes ago.”

Her eyes widened. “ _Oh._ ” She smirked gleefully. “Well, then yeah, I’d be worried, too.”

“Thanks a lot.” He put his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t really worried—yet.

Peter could be handful, but Oliver and Derek were similar enough that he was sure he’d be fine with Stiles…except that it seemed weird that they were taking up all of his time instead of letting him mingle. 

He groaned under his breath.

Cora laughed and patted his arm. “Look on the bright side—at least it’s just Uncle Peter and Dad. Could be Mom and Dad.” 

Derek shook his head. “Don’t say that, you’ll jinx it.”

“He missed you,” she said abruptly. “He and General Reyes are amazing warriors, but it was obvious he just wanted to get back to you. It was gross.”

Derek sighed softly. “I missed him, too.”

A pair of Hale soldiers approached them, so Derek snapped back to his duties; the soldiers appreciated his gratitude, but were more interested in talking about the training regimen Laura had threatened upon their return.

Once he’d soothed ruffled feathers— _of course_ Talia didn’t expect them to be training as soon as they returned home—Derek found himself face-to-face with Sir Parrish.

It was heading toward evening, and champagne had been swapped for wine as it neared time for dinner. Parrish had had a few drinks already, it smelled like.

“Sir Parrish,” Derek greeted politely. Over his shoulder, he saw Talia, Oliver, and Laura talking to Stiles. He winced. 

“Prince Hale.” He studied his face for a long, silent moment. “Stiles missed you.” He frowned. “His Majesty, I mean. He couldn’t—couldn’t wait to get back to you.” He sighed, long and low. “I haven’t seen him like this in a long time, since before his father…” He straightened up. “He’s still different, still not who he was before, but that’s a good thing.”

Aghast, Derek demanded, “How?”

“Given the circumstances,” Parrish amended. “A better thing would be his father being alive, but given the circumstances, he’s exactly who he needs to be to survive. He isn’t a child anymore, though,” he murmured, almost to himself. He met Derek’s eyes and smiled. “I’m happy that he has you, and I hope-”

“Whoa, Parrish, that’s enough.” General Reyes put her arm around his shoulders. “I think you need to try some of the snacks. And less of the wine.” 

“I haven’t had that much.”

“Oh? Perfect. The other parents are gathering over here, go join your brethren.” She glanced back and winked at Derek as she led Parrish away. 

Mercury pranced back to Derek’s side, butting her head against his hip. 

He tangled his fingers in her fur and shook his head. “I wish everyone would stop telling me how much he missed me,” he muttered.

“Should I skip that, then?”

Derek whirled. “I didn’t hear you.”

Stiles smiled. “It’s a big crowd, I don’t blame you. Plus, I was sneaking a little bit. It’s awkward talking to your family with all these people here.”

Derek moved closer, wishing there weren’t people everywhere so they could kiss. If it were just the soldiers, he’d risk it, but he could _feel_ his parents’ presence. Since they were mostly unaware of this, he felt that springing it on them at a public function was a little unfair.

Stiles seemed to agree, because he made a pained face but kept his distance. “Your sisters told me we’d be having a private dinner tomorrow, just the pack and myself, Parrish, and Reyes.”

Derek nodded. “It’s tradition.”

He smiled. “I see.”

“Your guest rooms will be on the second floor.” Derek tried not to look too obviously hopeful.

Stiles nodded stoically, then stepped forward, murmured in Derek’s ear, and said, louder, “I see someone I should speak to, Your Highness.”

Derek’s face was burning hot, but he didn’t care.

 

It felt like time slowed, like the party took weeks instead of hours, like pleasantries took months, but it was barely past midnight when Derek showed Sir Parrish to his room, General Reyes to hers, and Stiles to his. 

“And where is your room, Your Highness?” he murmured.

“First floor. Do you-” He frowned. “Really? But—we always—in your space.”

His mouth twisted with guilt. “Guest rooms are impersonal.”

Derek smiled and took him back to his own room. There were human things that he’d never understand, but wanting to be in his own space with someone he cared about rather than in a sterile guest space was something he could relate to. 

They were on each other the minute the door shut, kissing hungrily, hands flying over each other. Derek fumbled with the snaps of Stiles’s formal shirt, cursing under his breath.

Stiles laughed and bit his bottom lip affectionately while tugging at his belt. 

Derek reared back, putting a hand on Stiles’s chest. “Wait,” he mouthed, head tilted.

Stiles looked puzzled.

Someone was coming down the hall at a fast clip, toward Derek’s room. He frowned, then scowled as they stopped outside his door.

A long pause, then three firm raps.

He nudged Stiles aside and opened it. “Yes?”

Cora grinned at him. “Okay, you’re free to hate me, but Mom wanted to speak to King Stilinski and I volunteered to go get him, that way no one would find out that he isn’t in his own room.”

Derek sighed. “Why does she want to speak to him _now_?”

Her grin curled into a smirk. “Mom says she wants to see him for “business”, but really she wants to make sure you and Derek aren’t doing the dirty tango.”

“ _Cora!_ ” Derek snarled, mortified.

She laughed. “I’m serious!” Her gaze shifted over to Stiles. “She’ll probably make it about three minutes into a talk about soldiers or gratitude, before asking you about your _intentions_ toward Derek.” 

Derek didn’t have words for the well of mortification that had just opened up in him. 

Stiles swept a hand down Derek’s back, out of her sight. “It’s fine. I’ll just reassure her that I’m not going to steal his virtue.”

Derek sputtered, horrified and a little offended.

Cora giggled. “Too late, Marcus Nettles took that in the garden when they were fifteen.”

“ _ **Cora!**_ ”

Stiles laughed so loud it echoed in the halls. 

“I hate both of you.” He turned to retreat into his room.

Stiles caught him by the waist and kissed him. “I love you.”

He glowered. “I love you, too,” he muttered. 

Stiles smiled and stepped into the hall. 

Derek tried not to slam the door. He stayed there to listen as they went down the hall. He was going to _kill_ Cora if she said anything else about his _virtue._

“Mom’s this way, Your Majesty,” Cora said brightly. “Let’s practice. What _are_ your intentions toward my brother? I promise I’m a lot less scary than Mom.”

Stiles laughed quietly. “I’ve already had this discussion with Laura. And Peter. And Oliver.”

Cora giggled with delight.

Derek groaned loudly into his hands.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done! I'm so relieved tbh lol it's been fun mostly <3 Thank you for your comments. 
> 
> Thank you, [rozurashii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rozurashii//), for correcting my nonsense and listening to me complain! I appreciate it so much.

Evelyn was a fearsome cook; she ran her kitchen with militant precision. She was five foot nothing, pale and blonde as dandelion fluff, and did _not_ take kindly to Derek moping around her kitchen. 

“You’re going to stir if you’re in here taking up space.” She shoved a large bowl at him.

He took it meekly and retreated to an out-of-the-way corner. 

Isaac elbowed him lightly. “Why’re you hiding in here?”

He scowled. “I’m not hiding. I just wanted to help out.”

Isaac lifted his brows.

“And everyone is questioning King Stilinski, or questioning me about him,” he admitted.

“Stir!” Evelyn ordered without looking at him.

Derek hastily began stirring.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing. They like him.” Isaac shrugged. He was effortlessly chopping vegetables at lightning speed. 

“Or they’re trying to find out—things.”

Isaac snorted. “ _Things._ ” He scooped the pile of vegetables into a pot and started on some more. “What things?” He rolled his eyes when Derek avoided his gaze. “You are so _unsubtle_. Plus, Cora told me.”

“She’s the worst.”

“Sure, but you’re the one hiding out in the kitchen like a coward.”

“They always look for me in the library,” he muttered, twisting his wrist lightly to stir.

Isaac laughed. “I guess you’re right.” He finished up the vegetables and told someone to take over the pot he’d added them to. Then he held his hands out for Derek’s bowl and spoon. “You’re going way too slow.”

“Oh.” He passed it over. “Fine.”

He began stirring much faster than Derek, with expert flicks of the wrist that got all stray batter off the sides. “Dinner will be ready very soon, and Her M—Talia will want you dressed.”

“You too!”

“I thought it was only family and guests.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Isaac.”

He turned pink. “Oh. Okay.” He smiled down at the batter.

Derek shook his head and left the kitchen. 

Laura found him on his way to his room. “Where have you been?”

“Hiding from everyone.” 

She snorted. “Come on, I’ll help you get dressed.” She was wearing black pants and a deep green tunic shirt, which was as close to a dress as she’d get.

“I don’t need help getting dressed.”

“Sure you do. Because _while_ I help you get dressed, I can tell you what everyone’s been up to.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” She waited until he’d greeted Mercury—she wasn’t allowed in the kitchen, and the hour long separation seemed like a lifetime to her—to go and flop on his bed. “So, you’re head over heels for this guy, and Mom _totally_ knows.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Oh, she does. She’s ready to roast him to make sure he’s good enough for you. Dad’s thinking you just have a crush—but I’m pretty sure he’s just in denial.” 

“ _Why?_ ”

She rolled her eyes. “They pictured you falling for someone safer, obviously.”

“Stiles is safe.”

She sat up, looking serious suddenly. “He isn’t. I’m not going to talk you out of anything, or insist this is a phase, or a crush, but he _isn’t_ safe. You were already kidnapped and tortured for being with him.”

Derek stiffened. “That wasn’t his fault.”

“I never said it was. I said he isn’t safe.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Did you see him fighting? Is that why you’re saying this?”

“Yes, I saw him fighting. I saw what he and General Reyes do, I saw them exchange blood and go into that war trance, whatever. That isn’t why I’m saying this.” She inhaled slowly. “I just want you to be sure. He’s the Boy King. He’ll have people trying to kill him, and you for being with him, as a weapon against him. They want his land, his throne, his blood. Before you get into that, you have to be sure.”

Derek sighed and sat beside her on the bed. “I know. I know how dangerous his life is. But I also know that I love him. He’s kind and fair, focused, smart. Vicious when he needs to be, gentle when he can be. And he’s alone and I don’t want him to be, anymore.”

Laura sighed. “Alright.” She shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I’m all for it. I think you guys are good with each other. I’ll try to keep Mom and Dad off his back, but there’s no helping Peter.”

He tensed. “What’s Peter doing?”

“Dropping hints that he thinks Stilinski is being…” She hummed thoughtfully. “Less than honorable about his intentions.” 

“Meaning…?” he prompted, pushing down his rising horror.

Laura finally broke, collapsing into breathless laughter. “Oh, Derek, I think he’s accusing Stilinski of taking you as a form of payment for his help.”

“Oh my god.” He covered his face. It was made worse by the fact that he’d once thought the same thing himself. This was terrible. 

“Well, look at it this way—I guess Peter thinks you’re worth at least more than _one_ war.” She yelped when he shoved her off the bed, then kept laughing.

 

Cora was wearing a dress to dinner, though it was barely more intricate than a tunic; she liked things she could slip into and out of easily. She sat beside Isaac while everyone else arranged themselves according to rank. 

Talia ceded her seat at the head of the table to Stiles, as a guest of equal rank.

Derek was annoyed because this meant they couldn’t sit near each other. 

As the meal was brought out, Talia looked at Stiles. “King Mieczysław, I’d like to thank you again for your help. We wouldn’t have managed long without you.”

He smiled at her, straightening his shoulders. “You can call me-” Derek’s heart stopped- “Stiles.”

Derek blinked, then smiled helplessly. He had no idea why he’d thought Stiles would say anything else to her.

“Stiles, then. You may call me Talia.” Her voice had warmed considerably.

Derek relaxed.

At his left, Boyd snorted quietly. “What were you expecting?” he breathed.

“Some posturing, at least,” he admitted.

Boyd stifled a laugh.

Stiles glanced at him, his eyes gleaming like jewels.

His stomach swooped.

“I have a gift for you,” Stiles announced, looking back at Talia. To his left, Parrish reached into a satchel and retrieved a sheaf of old papers.

Derek frowned at them, then stiffened. His gaze flicked between Stiles, Parrish, and Reyes, but none of them seemed inclined to reveal anything to him.

Stiles carefully spread the papers out next to his place setting. “The deed and declaration to Steele’s kingdom.” 

Cora was gaping, but Derek couldn’t make fun of her when his face felt frozen in the same expression.

Talia simply looked baffled. “I—why?”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed, shifting to glare at Stiles.

Derek glanced at Laura, who had her chin in her hand, eating and watching the show.

“Because I want our kingdoms closer to equal footing, for one thing. For another,” he sighed, “the citizens in Steele’s kingdom are mostly werewolves and would, I’m sure, prefer a werewolf leader.” He glanced at Derek and smiled slightly.

Talia’s brows furrowed. “Why equal footing?”

“Size-wise,” he replied. “So that when I propose to Derek, there isn’t a perceived power imbalance between us,” he said matter-of-factly.

Derek couldn’t breathe. Was this happening? At dinner? With his entire family? 

“I want his answer to be whatever he actually wants,” Stiles continued. “Not because he—or you—fear an attack from me if—if he says no.” His voice cracked.

Derek’s mouth moved soundlessly. He looked around the table for help.

Oliver’s face was tense and pale. “We don’t want a hand out—or a bribe for our son’s hand-”

“It’s neither.” Stiles’s voice was firm and sharp. He looked insulted, but he didn’t act on it. “I wouldn’t have lasted as long as I did in Steele’s custody if not for Derek’s strength. It’s as much his as it is mine. So I’m gifting it to you.” He then concentrated on his meal.

Derek looked at Laura. 

She was grinning.

He mouthed, “Did you know?”

She winked and turned to speak to Cora.

Stiles seemed content to eat his meal while the Hale pack sat in shell-shocked silence.

Thankfully, manners built into their spines kicked in after a moment. 

“What do you think of this?” Peter demanded, turning to Derek. He was on Derek’s right, looking suspicious and eager all at once. 

Derek took a deep breath. “I think…Mom is perfectly capable of handling a larger kingdom. And that Stiles and I have a lot to talk about.” 

Peter looked frustrated. “Why would he give Talia a gift like this? Where are the strings?”

“I think the strings are in your head, Uncle Peter.”

“There are _always_ strings.”

Derek looked up at the table where Stiles was eating and talking to General Reyes. He imagined there were several possible reasons Stiles would give a gift of this nature. Having such a large kingdom already made him a formidable enemy; adding Steele land put him on the other side of the continent, too. He’d have to travel to maintain it with the level of oversight he preferred. He’d be a bigger target as well as a bigger threat; assassination attempts would be easier to make, while traveling to oversee his newly acquired land.

The Hale kingdom, by contrast, was small enough that the addition of Steele land was only a bonus, more land, a bigger army. And since the Hales were contractually Stiles’s allies, it still benefited him, in a roundabout way.

Derek looked at Peter, prepared to tell him this, and smirked when he found Peter looking annoyed.

It wasn’t surprising that Peter had already thought of those things, as Derek had. He was the one who’d been in charge of Derek’s schooling, after all. “We'll need to verify their authenticity, you understand," he said to Stiles.

Parrish made a low, furious sound; Stiles gestured at him to calm down.

“I’m sure that isn’t necessary, Peter,” Talia said sharply. 

He smiled far too widely. “Just to be sure His Majesty was given the proper papers, of course, sister.”

Stiles muffled a laugh. “Of course,” he said serenely. He grinned at Derek, bright and pleased, when Peter smirked. 

Derek sighed quietly, so in love he felt stupid with it.

While Peter, Talia, and Oliver looked over the papers, General Reyes slipped off to talk to Boyd, and Parrish spoke to Laura about training, Derek and Stiles stole away to the library.

“Whoa.” Stiles looked at the closest shelf, then the next. “Okay, my collection has to be a huge disappointment compared to this.”

“My father enjoys reading, too, so most of this was his doing before I was born.” Derek traced a fingertip down the spine of a book near him. 

“I see.” Stiles leaned around and spotted more shelves. “Jeeze,” he breathed. “You must have hated being stuck with just mine.” He looked troubled.

Derek slowly wrapped his arms around him, until their bodies were all tucked together. “I didn’t,” he mumbled against the side of Stiles’s neck.

“We can get more,” Stiles blurted anxiously.

Derek smiled briefly before letting go. “That reminds me. Did you really think a gift like that was necessary?”

Stiles blinked at him. “Pardon?”

Derek lifted his brows.

He sighed. “I think Queen Hale will rule fair and just, and, to be perfectly honest, I’d prefer my allies to be close by, to keep an eye on my enemies.”

He grinned involuntarily, because that was essentially what he’d been thinking. He sobered quickly. “And the rest of your announcement…”

Stiles tensed. “What about it?”

Derek moved closer in response to his racing heart. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

Stiles kissed him like he couldn’t stop himself, then leaned back, smirking. “I don’t have a ring yet.”

“When-” He cleared his throat. “When will you?”

“You’ll be the first to know.” He grabbed him by the back of the neck to reel him in for another, longer kiss.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments. I hope you all enjoy this last chapter! I have another fic I'm pretty ready to post but I'm going to wait until next week to start posting it. 
> 
> Also so much thanks and love for [rozurashii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rozurashii//) who made sure my nonsense was contained and caught my typos and odd phrasing and such. <3

**Fifteen Years Later**

The story of the Boy King was this: when he was sixteen, his father was murdered in front of him. He discovered he had incredible abilities, and avenged his father’s death. 

When he was seventeen, King Asher Lawson declared war on what he thought was an unprepared teenage king and lost. 

When he was eighteen, King Theodore Raken kidnapped the Boy King’s childhood best friends, tried to murder them, and lost the subsequent war to the Boy King. 

When he was twenty-three, the Boy King allied with the Wolf Queen and won the war between Ito, Argent, Calavera, and Hale. 

When he was twenty-four, he married the Wolf Prince, and the Boy King was never left to face the world alone again. 

“To the ring!” the Boy King boomed, and scooped two giggling children into the ring set in the training fields.

Derek rolled his eyes and helped their youngest, the only boy and three-years-old, up into the ring to join his sisters.

Stiles roared playfully, chasing the shrieking children around the ring. 

“Ava, watch out—don’t step on your brother!” Derek called, just as Ava tripped, knocking into Sean.

Stiles scooped him up before he could cry, blowing a raspberry on his stomach and making him shriek with laughter. 

Derek sighed, resting his elbow on the edge of the ring, chin in hand.

All three children were shifters, but Ava and Sean both favored Stiles; they’d switched off with their surrogate, who was also a shifter. Zuzanna was the only one who vaguely resembled Derek. She truly looked more like Oliver than anyone but Derek would admit, but that was okay.

Ava laughed and lifted Zuzanna by the legs so she could climb onto the ropes and jump on Stiles’s back. She dropped down giggling hysterically. 

“You guys can’t do this _every_ time you get bored during lessons,” Derek told them.

Stiles laughed and hauled him into the ring, kissing him until his scowl melted away. 

A wet, sticky kiss pressed to his cheek at the same time, making him rear back with a laugh.

“All better?” Sean asked.

Derek laughed again and kissed his forehead. “Yeah, all better. Your sisters will just have double lessons tomorrow.”

“No!” Ava groaned dramatically. “Uncle Peter says Auntie Laura never sat through _her_ lessons.”

“When you’re Auntie Laura’s age, you won’t have to take any more lessons, I promise.” Derek took Sean off Stiles’s hands, nuzzling their cheeks together. 

Zuzanna held her arms up until Stiles picked her up.

“You’re not sleepy already, are you, Zu?”

She shook her head. “I heard one of your meetings this morning,” she admitted shamelessly. “Why do people call you the Boy King?”

Ava scoffed. “Because he’s a _boy._ ”

Derek laughed. “Actually, if you’d have listened during your history lessons, you’d know why.”

Stiles palmed the back of Ava’s head, smiling tightly. “I’m not the Boy King anymore. Now, let’s have one hour in the ring before we go back inside.”

“Okay!”

Derek took Sean into the yard while Stiles taught the girls all about cat-stances and high kicks, uppercuts, and side kicks, and made them think they were playing. 

No one had dared attack the Boy King in over five years, but Stiles was always terrified someone would take the kids. For the first six months after each of them were born, he was plagued by nightmares. 

“Daddy, I want to—I want to go and see and play with Uncle Scott and the horses. Can we go see the horses?”

“Yes.” Derek glanced back, watching for a moment as Stiles corrected Ava’s stance, and kept walking. They were happy, and their home was filled with love, but a part of Stiles would always be ready for the next attack. That was always who he’d been, and that was fine. They would be prepared for whatever came. Together.


End file.
